The Loyal Heart (22 page)

“I'll be fine. I have a feeling the only people who will be brave enough to be out on a night like this are me and any wayward wise men.”

“But—”

“I came here for a reason, soldier. Now that is done, I think it's best I go on.”

Without another word of warning, Robert led the way back down the hallway. Captain Monroe followed, Marisol on their heels.

All too soon, she produced the captain's coat. She and Robert stood quietly as they watched him fasten the buttons with the same care he had taken as he unfastened them.

When he was buttoned up and had his hat in his hand, he smiled at the woman. “Thank you for a wonderful meal, ma'am. Best I've had in some time.”

“It . . . it was my pleasure.”

He smiled at that, then turned to Robert. “Thank you for both the hospitality and your loyalty. Both mean a lot to me.”

That was the thing. Robert knew his captain wasn't just giving him lip service. He was completely sincere. And that was why Robert knew that, as soon as the new year came, he would take a train down to Galveston Island and check on Miranda Markham as he was asked to do.

Even though the sight of her was likely going to rip him in two. He owed Phillip that much.

But he owed Captain Monroe even more.

“Merry Christmas, sir. Safe travels and Godspeed.”

“To you, too, Robert. For all good things, you too.”

And with that, he put on his hat and walked outside. Moments later, Robert saw him on his mount riding through the east pasture.

When he closed the door, Marisol was still standing in the foyer, looking at him with concern. “Do you think he'll be all right?”

“I hope and pray so.” He shrugged. “I learned something about him years ago. With Captain Monroe, one doesn't argue or question. One simply does as he's bid.”

He walked back to the library then. Found all traces of their meal and visit had been magically cleared away.

So he stood in front of the fireplace, raised his hands, and gave thanks for the warmth.

N
OT LONG AFTER
C
APTAIN
M
ONROE AND
R
OBERT MADE
their promises to Miranda, she excused herself, citing a pressing need to answer some correspondence.

Though neither of them had actually believed her excuse, Robert let her go without comment. He knew Miranda likely needed some time to process everything they'd revealed about Phillip.

Soon afterward, Winnie directed Devin to one of the bedrooms down the hall from Robert. Thirty minutes after that, the two men went outside.

Devin was eager to see the Galveston Phillip had described in such detail to them all during their late-night talks. As for himself, well, Robert knew the time had finally come to admit to his captain what had happened the day Phillip died.

To have never told him about his inability to do his duty was pure cowardice.

They'd just stepped off the front porch when Devin looked back at the house curiously. “This house is rather close to the water.”

“Yes.”

“It would be so easy for one to slip down to the docks without notice.”

Robert shrugged. “Perhaps. It has one of the finest locations in Galveston. It's close to the water yet off the main thoroughfare.”

Still staring at the canal, Devin said, “Has Miranda told you if there has been much interest in her house because of its location?”

“All I know is that her mother-in-law intends to have the house. She and Phillip's sister resent Miranda's keeping it after Phillip left it to her, and especially for turning it into a boardinghouse.”

“I bet they do,” he mused. “It's Miranda's right to claim her home, though.”

“It is. It's her house and her husband's legacy. But since I last wrote to you, I have learned firsthand that they are miserable women who gladly make Miranda miserable as well.”

Still staring at the narrow body of water and dock behind the mansion, Devin said, “I don't know a lot about shipping and waterways, but I know a lot about military strategy. Water is desirable.”

Robert felt a little slow, and he still wasn't following. “And?”

“And maybe someone decided they would like to have this mansion not for its beauty or sentimental nature, but because of its location. A man could bring all sorts of things into the country this way and no one would ever be wiser.”

Remembering just how displeased Phillip's mother and sister had been when he'd told them he would make sure they never got the house, Robert said, “Let's go visit the older Mrs. Markham and her daughter, Viola, tomorrow. They might have some answers to some of our questions.”

Captain Monroe's light blue eyes warmed. “If they are as truly unpleasant as you made them seem—”

“They are,” he said quickly.

“And if they have truly been as disrespectful and impolite to Miranda—”

“They have.”

“Then visiting them first thing tomorrow will be worth waking up for.”

Robert smiled to himself. “In the meantime, would you care to see the Strand?”

Devin inclined his head. “I would indeed.”

They walked up Market Street, then turned toward the busy city district. When they passed the infamous Recognition Square, Robert walked Devin over to it. “This is the memorial for the dead, sir.”

Devin nodded, barely scanning the names. “Where is Phillip's name? Did they list his rank? I still wish I would have been able to get his promotion to go through before his death.”

“It is absent, sir.”

He turned to Robert. “What is? His ranking?”

“No, sir. His name.”

“Why?” His words were fairly barked.

“I was told the memorial was for only the city's heroes. This is what the rumor has done, sir.”

Devin jerked off his hat and stood at attention. It was obvious to Robert that he was forcing himself to read every man's name on the off chance he'd recall one of the honored fallen heroes. That, of course, was a vintage Captain Monroe gesture. He'd been exhausted for most of the war and paid attention to correct protocols only when absolutely necessary. Until something untoward happened to one of his men.

Then it was obvious that he would do anything and everything to uphold their honor.

Only when Devin had replaced his hat on his head and was staring at the statue in silence did Robert speak. “Did you recognize any of the names?”

“One. He was in the Texas Rangers with me.”

“Good man?”

Devin thought for a moment. “Good enough. Too young to
die.” At last turning away from the carefully carved list of names, he said, “Thank you for showing this to me, Robert.”

“Of course.”

Devin looked at him a moment longer, then instead of walking ahead, he took a seat on one of the vacant benches. “You look like you have a lot on your mind.”

“I do. When I walked onto Galveston Island, I felt as if I was entering Pandora's box. It's been a challenge figuring out whom to trust. Fortunately, as I told you in my last letter, I have come to trust the sheriff, Jess Kern. But I am glad you are here, sir. Jess, of course, does not know of Phillip's true contributions to the war.”

“I am pleased you wrote to me about the urgency of the situation,” he said as they left the square. “However, I don't believe that is actually all that is on your mind, is it?”

“No.”

“Is it Miranda Markham who has you so tied up in knots?”

That took him by surprise. “Sir, everything we are dealing with has to do with Miranda.”

“Don't be dense, Lieutenant. I am not speaking of her problems, I am speaking about her.”

“Sir?” Robert wasn't sure if he was offended or embarrassed.

“It has not escaped my notice that she's a beautiful woman. I also have not failed to observe that you've noticed her beauty.”

“I would never force my attentions on a woman still grieving.”

“Is she, though?”

“I know she misses Phillip. But that said, I don't know how much she misses the man versus what she'd hoped they would be together.” Thinking about this further, he said slowly, “Wrapping one's mind around a new reality can be a challenge.”

“This is true. However, it is the way of the world. Life and death can interrupt a great many plans.”

“Indeed.”

“That said, I think you should investigate Miranda's feelings.”

Robert stopped and started several times, then at last uttered, “You don't think my . . . I mean, you don't think my admiration for her is wrong?”

“What? To look after her? To admit that you fancy her?” He paused, then grinned. “Or to admit that it is okay to fancy her?”

Robert decided to give up all sense of pride. “Yes to all of those things.”

Captain Monroe laughed. “My forte is war, not love. But I will say that, as someone who has just stumbled upon the two of you? It's apparent there's something almost tangible between you. For both of your sakes, I think you should give it a try.”

“I might.” Staring down at Devin, Robert said formally, “Captain, I need to tell you something, but I'm afraid you're going to be so disappointed and upset, you'll think differently about me.”

All traces of humor vanished from his expression. “It's that serious?”

“Yes.”

Looking at him closely, his captain sighed. “I'm not going to make you any promises, Robert. I'd like to think I've learned something after all these years in the military.”

“So, then . . .”

“So then, spit it out, soldier.”

Inwardly, Robert gave a sigh of relief. At last he was going to be able to share his burden. He was ready to face the consequences, even if it meant that the man he admired the most was going to look at him as if he was a failure.

“You remember when Phillip was so sick. When he was slowly dying and started hallucinating.”

The muscle in Devin's cheek jumped. “I remember.”

“What you may not recall is that earlier that week I made a promise to you.”

“No, I remember your promise.” Devin stood.

Robert was standing almost at attention and couldn't even meet his captain's gaze. Belatedly, he realized he was staring just above the man's head. It was a classic soldier's pose. Men had done it to him all the time. Whenever they were ashamed or lying or afraid, they would stand tall and look slightly away.

It didn't fool anyone.

He had no doubt that he wasn't fooling Devin at the moment. Not even a little bit.

Feeling even worse because he was still acting like a coward, he continued. “Anyway, sir . . . I promised you I would do whatever was necessary to sustain the integrity of Phillip Markham.” And, of course, the integrity of the South.

“Yes. You did.”

“When I sat with him that day, he started talking. In an agitated way. At first I truly thought he was lost in a vision of home. Maybe back when he was a boy. He was talking about rabbits and weasels. Foxes and hounds, and you told me later, after he died, that he had been talking in code . . .” His voice drifted off, and at that moment the words Phillip had uttered were so clear in his head he could probably have recited them verbatim. “But I didn't tell you Phillip started talking about his undercover work. Not in code, but plainly.”

His captain froze. “Yes.”

Feeling as though it had all happened days ago instead of years, Robert felt as if his mouth were full of cotton. “I knew I should quiet him. I knew what my orders were. They were clear, sir.”

“What did you do?”

Hating the memory, hating how it made him feel, he forced himself to say each word, even though admitting it all out loud made him feel even worse. “I took off my jacket, intending to . . . to stop him. But I couldn't.”

“I see.”

Robert glanced at Captain Monroe's expression. It was carefully blank. Feeling miserable, he said, “Sir, there's more. You see, when I left the room, a guard was standing nearby, and two prisoners were there in their cots. The sick men were staring at me with stunned expressions.”

“So they heard.” His voice was flat.

“They did. And I'm sure the guard heard too.” Robert closed his eyes, hating this part of his story the most. Hating how weak it made him sound. How weak it made him feel. “I should have dealt with them there, sir.”

“Should have? What did you do?”

“Nothing,” he whispered. Then, forcing himself to remember that he was alive while Phillip was dead, he said clearly, “I did nothing, sir. I walked away.” Robert swallowed. “And then I chose not to tell you either.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I couldn't bear to let you know that I wasn't man enough to kill Phillip. Or brave enough to deal with the three men who heard.” Back then, every choice had seemed to have irrefutable consequences. If he'd killed the men, he would have very well been caught and put to death too. If he'd merely threatened them to keep their silence, the uncertainty would have been an insurmountable weight around his neck.

“I see.” Devin stared at him for several seconds.

Robert forced himself to stand still. Unwavering. Whatever blame Devin heaped on him was what he deserved.

“Lieutenant?”

He braced himself. “Yes, sir?”

“When I went into Phillip's sick room to relieve you, just minutes after you left, he was dead.” Looking hollow, Devin said, “He was already dead.”

“What? But you seemed to . . . you never said.”

“You're right, I didn't.” He swallowed. “You see, I thought you ended Phillip's life.”

“You thought I killed him. Yet you never said a word to me.”

Monroe shrugged. “How could I? I thought you had done what a soldier—no, what an officer—needed to do. When I said, ‘You know what happened,' I thought you knew I was acknowledging what you would not want to admit, not Phillip's inevitable death from gangrene. No words could have made you feel any better anyway.”

He sighed. “Robert, I thought you had done what was best for our unit, best for the Confederacy, best for Phillip's memory.” He laughed darkly. “After a while, I even said it was best for Phillip. He was in terrible pain. For weeks.”

“When you said Phillip was dead, I assumed you did what I wasn't brave enough to do.”

“I would have. I would have done it without much remorse. However, I did not end Phillip Markham's life.”

“So it was one of the three men outside the door. Either one of the Confederate soldiers in the cots or the guard. As I think on what Phillip said, I'm not sure if it would have been clear that Phillip was a spy for us, and not the North.”

“So it would seem. He did not look as though he died peacefully.”

“All this time I've felt terrible about it. I wished I had been stronger,” Robert said, feeling both confused and, for the first time,
cautiously optimistic. “After all, I couldn't say how many times I fired bullets with my Remington. I killed dozens of men on the field.”