Shadow of Dawn (31 page)

He laughed softly. “Now, Catherine, surely
you were not as naïve as that!”

She felt her heart literally skip a beat.

“Are you testing my recollection of our
wedding night? I remember being worried about your illness and, I
must admit, being greatly disappointed.”

“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “You’re
right, Andrew. I wanted to see if you remembered. Nothing has
turned out the way I expected it to.”

“A situation I hope to remedy…very soon.”

She coughed and pretended to fall back a
little against the seat as though exhausted. She
was
exhausted, utterly. Her conviction that this man was not Andrew but
was in fact his twin brother, John, shattered and fell in shards
around her feet.

But there were other ways he could have found
out! Anyone in the family could have told him how she spent her
wedding night. Though it was rather unlikely as a topic of
conversation…

Andrew said quietly, “Why don’t you just come
right out and ask me what you want to know?”

Again, her heart did a strange little
flutter. “What?”

“Someone has told you of my twin. You think
I’m John, don’t you…masquerading as my brother Andrew?”

Catherine sat up straight and stared at
him.

He leaned forward a little, so that the light
from the lantern shone full upon his face. It was a serious and
strangely sad face.

“I assure you, I am Andrew. John was killed
before the war. I found out but never told the family. He was a
renegade…we never spoke of him. He was on a riverboat on the
Mississippi. They caught him cheating at cards. In the night
someone threw him overboard. They found blood on the deck, so most
likely he was stabbed or beaten first.”

“I’m sorry, Andrew,” she said, her voice
barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know who this Captain Kelly is that
Major Pierce speaks of. They’re always making mistakes in the
records. Either he’s honestly mistaken or, for some reason, is
deliberately trying to deceive you.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why should he do
that?”

“Perhaps,” Andrew said clearly, “because he
wants you.”

Catherine forced a scoffing little laugh. “I
daresay Major Pierce could have any woman in Richmond…why should he
be interested in me?”

“He strikes me as somewhat discerning. You
are a woman of high ideals, an attribute especially attractive to a
soldier. A soldier must believe in what he’s fighting for. It is
easy to see in you all that epitomizes the South…generosity,
devotion to traditions, devotion to God and, above all, charm.”

“I’m not at all charming,” she said. “I’m
quiet, usually. Father used to say I was far too bookish.”

“That has an appeal all its own,” Andrew
replied. “It takes a rare kind of man to appreciate it.”

“Well, at any rate, I’m not interested in
hearing any more about Mr. Pierce.”

“Oh, but I am. In fact, I would like to find
out everything there is to know about him.” He paused and added,
rather absently, “Because I have a feeling we haven’t seen the last
of the major.”

They arrived home, and after seeing her into
her room, Andrew went down to the kitchen and returned with a cup
of steaming hot tea. He waited while she drank it, already in her
nightgown and sitting up in bed.

As he left he said, “When you’re well, my
dear, we’ll talk more about that large family I spoke of.”

Catherine decided that a sudden relapse would
be in order. She slept little that night, so the next day she did
not find it difficult to appear wan and listless. She waited until
late in the morning before dressing and going downstairs. The sound
of somber music drifted from the piano. She had just reached the
lower hall when she heard a knock and Ephraim opened the massive
front door. A soldier stood there, hat in hand.

“I’m here to speak to Mrs. Henderson.”

Sallie came at once out of the parlor, her
eyes wide and her hand at her throat. “I am Mrs. Henderson.”

“Ma’am, you reported your brother missing,
Mr. Bart Ingram. Is that correct?”

“Yes. Have you found him? Where is he?”

“I regret to inform you, ma’am, that a body
has been discovered which, in some ways, matches the description of
your brother. We’ll need someone to come and make an
identification. Is your husband at home?”

Catherine approached and put her hand on
Sallie’s shoulder, expecting her to swoon. “Mr. Henderson is at his
office. Please get him.” She gave the soldier the address. He
bowed, put on his hat, and left.

Sallie stood like a statue. Catherine gently
turned her toward the parlor. She looked up and saw Andrew standing
at the bottom of the stairs.

“What’s happened, Catherine?”

“It’s Bart. They found his…they found someone
they think is Bart.”

She and Andrew went into the parlor with
Sallie. Sallie never said a word but sat with her blue eyes very
large and her face set like marble. Catherine wanted to say some
comforting word…something to the effect that perhaps the body was
not Bart’s at all…except she couldn’t do that when she knew the
truth. Andrew also respected Sallie’s silence and said nothing.

After an interminable wait, Martin came.
Sallie took one look at his face and cried, “No! No, Martin!”

Martin drew her to her feet and put his arms
around her. She stood there for a moment, then pulled away. “I knew
it,” she said, with a blank look. “I’ve known all this time that
something must have happened to him.”

“What happened, Martin?” Andrew asked
quietly.

Martin turned toward him, his face haggard
and gray. “He’d been shot. He was in an old abandoned house in the
woods. Someone hunting passed by and noticed—” Martin checked
himself. “I’m sure it was…an instant death, Sallie.”

“Do they have any idea why?” Andrew asked.
“Do they have any clues as to who shot him?”

“No. They found nothing, except a boy’s cap.
It looked brand new. It was in the room with Bart.”

C
atherine felt her
face blanch. She had forgotten all about the cap. She had thrown it
at the intruder before she recognized Clayton; probably he had
forgotten it, too. No doubt it had gone under the table or into
some shadowy corner where they had not seen it before they
left.

But there was no way anyone could connect it
with her.

Sallie said, bewildered, “A boy’s cap?”

“A small man could have worn it.”

“What sort of cap?” Andrew asked
curiously.

“A kepi, sort of like the soldiers wear.”

No one said anything. Sallie announced
abruptly that she was going to her room. Martin followed her, his
head lowered.

“Well,” Andrew said. “I’m sorry to hear it.
Are you all right, Catherine?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I mean no, I’m not
feeling well. I think I’ll go to my room, too.”

He watched her as she ascended the stairs.
She was aware that he left the house after lunch on one of Martin’s
horses, as he usually did. Later, she was in the window seat of the
sitting room upstairs when she looked down and saw a horse trotting
up the short driveway. Its rider, a man in uniform, sat straight
and easy in the saddle. Clayton, she thought, her pulse
leaping.

She jumped up and ran to the stairway, then
stopped for a moment to compose herself. She walked with dignity
down the stairs. Ephraim was about to show Clayton into the parlor
when the latter looked up and saw her.

“Mrs. Kelly,” he said, sweeping off his hat.
“I’ve come to offer my sympathy and assistance in this difficult
time.”

She preceded him into the parlor. “Thank you,
Major. Ephraim, would you call Miss Sallie, please?”

Ephraim looked serious but nevertheless had a
twinkle in his eye at the appearance of Clayton. “Yes, ma’am. I
expect it might take a few minutes. There’s, ah, nobody else around
just now, Miss Catherine.”

He disappeared down the hall, but Clayton’s
embrace and kiss were all too brief.

“Something’s wrong, dear…I see it in your
face.”

“Oh, Clayton, he knew about my wedding night!
He guessed that I knew about John. He said John was killed and
thrown off a riverboat before the war started.”

Clayton frowned. “I see.”

“And the cap I wore that night, the one I
threw at you. They found it in the house!”

He looked into her eyes for a moment. “I knew
you threw something, but it didn’t occur to me just then to
question what it was. You…surprised me. It must have gone somewhere
out of sight.”

“Nobody saw me wearing it.”

“Except the man at the livery. Someone made a
mistake…they weren’t supposed to release any information of that
nature. I’ll get rid of the cap. Don’t let it worry you. Catherine,
are you certain you didn’t recognize anything about the man you saw
leaving the house that day, after the shot? Was there anything
familiar about the way he moved or walked?”

“No,” she said, after a moment. “The wind was
blowing. He was sort of braced against it.”

“Could it have been a woman?”

“No,” she said, surprised. “No, I don’t think
so. Why do you think

that?”

“I don’t. It was only a vague sort of notion.
Now about this man calling himself your husband…nothing of what he
said proves anything one way or the other, except that the
riverboat incident does tie in with what Mrs. Shirley managed to
discover so far.”

“Then that means he was telling the
truth!”

“John Kelly’s body was never recovered.”

“But he couldn’t have lived—”

“Someone’s coming,” Clayton said, moving away
from her.

Sallie came into the room. Her eyes were red
but she was immaculately dressed in a snug-fitting bodice and wide
skirt. Not a hair was out of place. The scent of cologne drifted
from her as she extended her hand to Clayton.

“I heard the news this morning. May I express
my very deep regret about your brother, Mrs. Henderson.”

“Thank you, Mr. Pierce.” Her eyes moved over
his uniform. “Why, it’s Major Pierce now, isn’t it?” She gave him a
tremulous smile.

“At your service, ma’am.”

“Oh, Major Pierce,” she said wistfully,
batting her eyes, “can’t you do something? I must know what
happened to Bartie.”

“I’m sure everything is being done to find
the person responsible for your brother’s death, Mrs. Henderson.
I’ll do what I can.”

“Oh, thank you, Major. I shall be in your
debt.”

“Not at all. Please let me know if I can be
of any further assistance. I’m afraid I won’t be able to attend the
funeral, as there are meetings scheduled for the next several
days.”

“Of course, Major. It was kind of you to
come.” Sallie touched her eyes with a lacy handkerchief.

“Good-bye. Good-bye, Mrs. Kelly.”

Catherine stepped forward. “I’ll see you to
the door.”

He glanced at her. “That’s not necessary.
I’ll see myself out. Again, ladies, let me know if I can help
you.”

He left, and something vital and electric,
the sheer power of his presence, went out of the room. Catherine
felt strangely deflated. Sallie paused, gave her an enigmatic look,
and swept regally from the parlor.

After a moment Catherine lifted her skirts
and ran up the stairs, arriving in time to see Sallie’s door
closing, then she rushed to the window seat and looked down. She
watched with a feeling of pride as Clayton rode away. Everyone said
President Davis, who frequently rode through the city, sat a horse
better than anyone in Virginia, but Catherine decided that Clayton
had even better form than the president, for he was completely
casual and unpretentious. He had almost reached the end of the
driveway when he was met by another horseman.

With a pang, she recognized Andrew. He drew
up to Clayton and they talked for a moment, then Clayton pulled on
the reins, set his horse to a trot, and disappeared down the
street. Andrew proceeded along the driveway, glancing up at the
window where she sat. She drew instantly back, but he couldn’t have
seen her, not with the glare of the afternoon sun on the glass. She
went to her room and he did not disturb her.

She spent the rest of the afternoon reading
the newspapers. In the west, General U. S. Grant doggedly kept
trying to figure out a way to capture Vicksburg, Mississippi. The
armies skirmished in northern Virginia. Everyone seemed convinced
the Yankees were preparing for another attempt to take Richmond.
Clayton had already told her that. And he would be right in the
middle of it, she thought dismally.

That evening many callers came to express
their sympathy as the news of Bart’s death spread through the
neighborhood. Catherine remained in her room, pleading ill health.
Sallie also stayed upstairs. Andrew, Martin and Miranda received
the visitors.