Shadow of Dawn (7 page)

“Yes, I will, Ephraim. Thank you.”

She entered the house, greeted several people
who stood in the foyer, and went upstairs to Delia’s room. Delia
had sent everyone away and was sitting on the floor amid a welter
of hoop, petticoats, and fervid tears.

Amazed, Catherine rushed to kneel beside her
friend.

“Delia, what is it?”

“Oh, Catherine, what am I going to do? I’m so
afraid!”

“What are you afraid of?”

“The war! I’m afraid of the war. I know it’s
not patriotic, but I can’t help it. I hate it! What if something
happens to Marcus? Papa heard the other day about Andrew; and
Catherine, I’m so sorry, but what if something like that happens to
Marcus? What if he’s killed? I can’t stand it. I can’t marry him,
or anybody, until the war is over.”

Catherine arranged her skirts and sat down
cross-legged beside her friend. Delia blew her nose loudly into a
handkerchief.

“Stop that,” Catherine scolded. “You’re going
to ruin your face. Now let’s just think a minute.”

The door opened and a woman peered timidly
in. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here, Catherine. Do talk some sense
into Delia. We’ve invited over a hundred people to this wedding.
Why, even the governor is—”

“Go away, please, Mama.”

The door closed. Catherine sat for a moment
without saying anything. She met Delia’s eyes and reached out to
take her hand.

“Delia, what happened to Andrew was dreadful.
He’ll never be the same, and neither will I. A year ago I would
have thought I couldn’t stand something like this happening,
either. And I really haven’t been very brave about it. But somehow
you just…stand things. You pray, and trust God that somehow He can
make good things happen out of all the bad. And there’ll always be
bad things. Not just war. Sickness, accidents…Delia, none of us has
any guarantees about anything.”

Delia listened but kept shaking her head.
“You’re a strong person, Catherine. I’m not.”

“That’s nonsense. You’re as strong as you
want to be.”

“I can’t live without Marcus. At least Andrew
is still alive.”

Catherine took her friend’s arm and got to
her feet, giving a gentle pull.

“Then what are you waiting for, if you can’t
live without him? Marry him, for heaven’s sake! Take what precious
time you have together, because whether you marry him or not he’ll
still be going back to the army.”

Delia allowed herself to slowly rise. She
stood there, sniffing. “Maybe you’re right.”

“We can’t live in fear, Delia. We just have
to…to accept things and try to make the best of them.”

“I
will
live in fear, I can’t help it!
I’ll live in fear of reading the newspapers and the casualty lists,
and I’ll live in terror of getting a telegram or a letter. I’ll
imagine the most horrible things, Catherine!”

“I think…I think we’re all afraid. But we
can’t dwell on it or we’ll surely lose our minds. Listen…I was
helping in the hospital some before Andrew came home, and I may go
back to it. I need to keep busy, and Mrs. Shirley sees to Andrew.
Why don’t you go with me, after Marcus leaves?”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that, Catherine. I
couldn’t stand it. I visit in the hospital sometimes and the smell
always makes me sick. Disinfectants, and blood, and—everything.
Besides—” Fresh tears threatened. “We just decided last night that
I should move back to Lexington and open up Marcus’s old house. Oh,
I’m going to miss you, Catherine!”

Catherine absorbed this news with a quick
pang of regret, but gave her friend a hug, saying lightly, “It’s
all right—it’ll be fun to visit each other. Now your face is as red
as a lobster. Let’s get some cold water up here right away, and
goodness, it’s time to get you dressed!”

Within moments, the room came alive with
bridesmaids, servants, and frantic activity. Assisted by her mother
and Catherine, Delia put on her satin gown, ivory-colored and
trimmed at the waist with a nosegay of orange blossoms. Finally the
time came for everyone to take their places at the top of the
stairs. Catherine held tightly to her bouquet and looked down to
see a large crowd seated in chairs just below. Off to one side
stood the pastor, the pale-faced bridegroom and his attendants.

The first notes of the processional music
began. Catherine made her way slowly, silently praying she wouldn’t
make a misstep and tumble down the stairs to land in an inglorious
heap before the guests. And there were so many!

Suddenly her heart jumped into her throat and
she almost tripped. She put her hand out toward the railing to
steady herself and continued down the never-ending staircase.

Clayton Pierce! What was he doing at Delia’s
wedding?

The ceremony seemed to take forever. The
minister droned on about the sanctity of marriage, but Catherine
heard none of it. Her heart thudded in her ears and her hands and
knees shook. When she had seen Clayton, he had looked directly into
her eyes and again she felt something like a bond with him. She
tried to explain it to herself and couldn’t. There was something
connecting them which she could not define but knew in her soul
wasn’t right.

No, it wasn’t right that her pulse should
quicken whenever she thought of Clayton. It wasn’t right that she
should care whether or not he thought her beautiful. It wasn’t
right that she found him more exciting than she had ever found
Andrew.

“And what God hath joined together,” said the
minister, “let not man put asunder.”

T
he wedding over,
people smiled and laughed and began moving into the huge dining
room for the reception. Clayton had disappeared. Catherine talked
with some of her friends, then saw Delia’s mother beckoning to her
and followed the older woman into the parlor.

Late afternoon sunlight poured into the room
through the windows, from which the draperies had been removed. A
rectangular standing mirror was situated at a point where it would
catch the most light. The effect was almost dazzling.

Clayton emerged from a room under the stairs,
which he was apparently using as a darkroom. He had removed his
coat and rolled his sleeves up to the elbows. The bride and groom
stood just beyond the camera, talking in low voices. Delia’s
younger brother, Justin, seemed to be assisting Clayton, following
his instructions with speed and efficiency.

Clayton’s presence seemed little less
dazzling than the sunlight. Catherine stood with the four
bridesmaids and watched him. The girls were all younger than she;
none was married and she could see from their whispering and
giggling that they were quite taken with Mr. Pierce. He appeared
not to notice but concentrated on the challenging

task of getting the newly married couple and
two sets of parents in one photograph.

As they moved into place, he said, “Some of
you have never sat for a photograph before, so I’d like to explain
briefly, ladies and gentlemen, how this works. There’s a plate that
my able assistant has prepared with chemicals, making it very
sensitive to light. In a moment he’ll bring it out in a plate
holder and place it in the camera.

“When everyone is ready, I’ll expose the
plate, and light will be projected onto the lens of the camera to
form the image. It’s important that no one move—try not to even
blink—during the exposure time. It should only take a moment or
two. Then the plate will be carried back to the darkroom for
development. Do you have any questions before we get started?”

No one had any questions but everyone looked
nervous. Clayton talked and joked with them as he directed how and
where each person should stand, until they visibly relaxed. He bent
over the large, box-shaped camera. Justin removed the exposed plate
as Clayton inserted another one.

“Miss Delia has requested a picture of her
attendants,” Clayton said. “Mrs. Kelly, how nice to see you again.
Come and stand here, please. Ladies, if you’ll step this way.”

The blushing girls, including Catherine,
lined up across the room. Clayton adjusted the camera.

“Mrs. Kelly, if you’ll stand in the middle,
please. The second young lady from the left, will you turn slightly
to your right?”

In the two or three times in her life
Catherine had posed for photographs, she always felt foolish
staring into the lens of a camera, but never more so than at this
moment. At last it was over and Clayton excused himself to go and
attend to the developing of the plates.

The young girls scurried off together, still
giggling. The bridegroom and his bride exchanged a tender moment
with their parents, and Catherine discreetly left the room and
walked down the hallway. She could see the great dining room, its
table loaded with crystal dishes, food, a tall white cake and a
bowl full of bright red punch. People glanced at her and smiled and
some of them who had heard about Andrew asked to be remembered to
him and promised to visit when he felt up to it.

She made her way into the dining room. A
young man who had courted her when she first came to Richmond
brought her a glass of punch. She was quickly surrounded by some of
her friends from church. There seemed to be people everywhere—and
she had never felt so lonely.

She noticed that one of the side doors stood
partially open to let fresh air into the room. The afternoon sun
was fast disappearing. She asked one of the servants to bring her
shawl, and after throwing it carelessly over her shoulders she made
her way across the room and through the doorway. The cold air was
bracing and she followed the little bricked path.

A trio of steps led into a sunken garden,
circular in shape and surrounded by a dense row of shrubbery. Like
the path, the walkway around the garden was bricked, with a
profusion of white chrysanthemums occupying its center and giving
off an exquisite scent. Wooden benches fitting neatly against the
trimmed hedge completely encircled

the garden.

Tears came into her eyes. In a moment she
would be squalling like Delia. She was a fine one to lecture
Delia…coming out here feeling sorry for herself!

She sat down on one of the benches and looked
up at the sky. Hues of purple and scarlet streaked the deepening
blue, while the fading rays of the sun bathed everything in a
roseate glow. The vast, painted canopy of the sky seemed to spread
to the edge of the world. Beneath it she felt lost and
insignificant.

She thought, bewildered, What is wrong with
me?

She should be inside, mingling with the
guests, sharing in the happiness of Delia and Marcus, but the very
thought of having to appear happy and vivacious made her sick at
her stomach. Maybe she felt lonely because Delia’s marriage meant
their close relationship would be coming to an end. She had seen it
before…friends got married and moved away, babies were born, and
suddenly there was little time for old friends.

Maybe she hadn’t yet accepted what had
happened to Andrew. Certainly it had been a shock, and would
require a period of adjustment. Or maybe…

She heard footsteps approaching. She dabbed
swiftly at her eyes, hoping whoever it was would go away.

“Mrs. Kelly?”

Her heart sank down to her toes. She half
turned and looked up at Clayton. “Yes?”

He had put his coat back on and now stood
looking at her with concern. “Is anything wrong?”

“No. It…it got stuffy in the house.”

With a pang of alarm she noticed her nose was
beginning to run. She sniffed and turned slightly away. Clayton
stepped forward and wordlessly handed her a handkerchief.

“Thank you, Mr. Pierce.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No, thank you.”

“At least let me escort you back inside.
Would you like me to take you home?”

“No,” she said, more sharply than she
intended. “I mean, I really should be inside. I only meant to stay
out here for a moment.”

He did not reply and she felt he was reading
her mind and discovering the exact nature of her malady, which was
certainly more than she was able to do herself. She tried to think
of something to say.

“Are you a friend of Marcus’? I confess I was
surprised to see you here tonight, Mr. Pierce.”

“Please call me Clayton. No, I don’t know
either the bride or the groom. I’m acquainted with Miss Delia’s
brother. He has some training in photography and has assisted me
once or twice. He suggested hiring me for the wedding. There seems
to be a shortage of photographers these days.”

“Oh,” she said. “I suppose many of them have
joined the army.”

He ambled slowly around the little area of
flowers, his hands in his pockets. “I take it, from what you said
the other night, that you think I should be in uniform…fighting
battles rather than just writing about them.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm. “I’m sorry if
I offended you, Mr. Pierce—I mean, Clayton. I’m sure you do risk
your life being with the soldiers on the battlefields. And at least
you’re preserving something for history in your articles and
photographs.”