Undaunted Love (7 page)

Chapter Eleven

T
HEY ARRIVED AT REGIMENTAL HEADQUARTERS at a quarter til four in the afternoon, the sun beginning to move down the horizon but still giving off spring warmth. He leaned over and kissed his bride—he didn’t seem to be able to get enough of kissing his bride, for that matter—and handed her the reins.

“I’ll go in, do whatever’s needful. I don’t rightly know how long it’ll be… Will you be all right out here alone?” he asked.

“I’m perfect! Perfectly wonderful!” She laughed. “I’ll sit right here and remember becomin’ your wife, and day dreamin’ about all the years ahead, and time’ll fly right on by. Go on now, get it over with so we can go to the inn.” She blushed, but her eyes twinkled. Rafe didn’t need any further incentive, and he ran up the steps and through the front door.

A half hour passed, and Livvie hummed and gazed off at the far clouds, thinking of fat babies and laughing meals and nights spent together reading or playing chess. She missed Rafe leaving the building, and didn’t see him until he was walking slowly down the front steps. Frowning, she watched him, shuffling along, definitely out of sorts. He stopped next to the cart but didn’t speak.

“Well? Did they think you’re too short? Why the long face?” she teased.

“I have to go… now.” He didn’t meet her eyes.

“Now? What do you mean now?”

“I went in and told them the things I could do like ride and shoot, and how much schoolin’ I had, and there’s a doc in there what gave me a quick look and thought I was fine for duty. And I said I wanted to volunteer for the 1st South Carolina for my six months. So they handed me the paper, and I looked it over and it was all just fine, and I signed it. And I asked them when I needed to turn up tomorrow, and they said, ‘No son, you’re in the militia now. You have to report here by five of the clock. Now, today.’” He looked at her miserably, near tears. “I didn’t know, Liv, I swear it. I woulda come tomorrow, or even the day after… I didn’t know if I signed the paper, I was theirs.” He hung his head.

No words would come to her. She tried to form some, but nothing came out of her mouth, nor could she move from where she sat. After several moments he looked up at her, tears running down his face.

“Forgive me, Liv. Please. I didn’t know, and this sure ain’t how I pictured my wedding night…”

He looked so miserable, so devastated, that Livvie was finally able to slide across the seat of the cart and clamber down. She put her arms around his waist and laid her head upon his chest, her tears wetting his shirt. He held her tightly, his face in her hair.

“We have a half hour… We can, we can go sit somewhere…” He was rambling, ashamed.

Looking around, Livvie spotted a small park fenced with iron rails, a great oak tree in the middle. She took his hand and they walked slowly over to it, entering by a small gate. Rafe sat, leaning against the tree, his wife’s head in his lap as she lay on the ground. He stroked her silky chestnut hair, trying not to think of what that night was supposed to hold. His other arm crossed her waist, and they held hands by her heart. Neither spoke.

At the end of their time, they stood. Livvie smoothed her skirts and straightened her hair. Remembering her mama, she put her chin up and shoulders back, defiant against adversity. Rafe smiled ruefully when he saw her, and planted a kiss on the top of her head. He put his arm around her shoulder, and they walked slowly back to the cart. He took out his carpetbag and set it on the ground.

Taking his new bride in his arms, he held her for a long moment. Kissing her, he stepped back, and, mimicking her resolve, put his chin up and his shoulders back. He picked up the bag.

“You are the love of my life, Olivia Byrd Colton. By God’s grace, I’ll come back to you soon, and we’ll have our wedding night. I swear it!” He gave her a final kiss and walked up the steps.

“Always,” whispered Livvie, standing still until he disappeared into the stark building and the door shut behind him.

Chapter Twelve

S
HE LAY, CURLED UP ON the bed, tears wetting the pillow. Livvie could hear the sounds of laughter and the clattering of dishes from the small public room, and the occasional
clop clop
of a horse going by outside her window, but she hadn’t the energy to move. Tomorrow she would have to go home, but that was all that was going according their plan. She looked at her left hand, at the absence of a ring there.
If only we’d gotten a ring,
she thought,
I wouldn’t feel so alone.

When Rafe had left her alone in the cart in front of the militia’s headquarters, she hadn’t known how to get to the small inn where Jeb Greene, in his continuing generosity, had paid for a night’s stay for the newlyweds. For a long moment she hadn’t even remembered its name, and thought she was going to sit, sobbing, on the road all night. Finally it had come to her, and she remembered Rafe’s excitement about the Magnolia Inn and their wedding night. At least, with the name, she could ask directions. Glumly she flicked the reins and turned at the next street.

It took three people, and three different explanations of Charleston’s roads, but she finally surrendered her horse and cart to the stable boy at the Magnolia, picked up her small valise, and walked slowly inside. She gave her name, and suffered the surprise from the innkeeper that she was alone. Tears welled up yet again, but she merely said, “He’s had to report for duty with the 1st Infantry.” The man gave her a sympathetic look and had his wife show her to her room.

A pretty young maid had brought tea after she declined dinner. “But it’s paid for, Miz Colton. You must eat something!” Her blonde curls bobbed on her head as she nodded to make her point.

“I’m sorry, I’m feeling a bit peaked. I’m sure I’ll be having breakfast, if you can let someone know.” Livvie dropped onto the bed and ran her hand over the wagon wheel cotton quilt, softened with age. The maid had left her, but returned fifteen minutes later with a tray of tea, biscuits, and lemon curd. It sat, cold now, on the small table under the window.

Sighing, she got up from the bed and wandered around the room. She picked up a biscuit and nibbled it, looking out the window at the dark night. Finally she shook her head violently.
No, Livvie Byrd, you’re not gonna go to pieces over this. You’re a married woman now, full grown, and you won’t act the child.
She went to the small chest of drawers and opened it, hoping to find pen and paper. She opened the door and saw her maid coming out of another room.

“Excuse me, may I get things to write a letter? And perhaps some soup brought in?” She smiled to make up for her previous rude behavior.

The maid gave a quick curtsy, her green eyes smiling. “With pleasure, ma’am,” she said, and turned quickly to the kitchen.

Rafe had been taken to a courtyard by a uniformed soldier, and left there on a bench to wait. He sat, his forearms on his thighs, his hands dangling, thinking only of Livvie. His wife. Well, his wife under God, if not in any other way.
What a I fool I am!
he thought.
What was one more day of waiting?
He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head.

“Soldier!” someone barked, and he looked up quickly, surprised. Five feet in front of him stood a stocky man of about forty with close-cropped gray hair, a pressed gray uniform, and a ferocious scowl.

“Me?” he asked.

“You see anyone else around here, son?” the man asked. “You’re comin’ with me.” He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Rafe to scramble up from the bench, grab his bag, and trot after him.

Without turning, the man was talking. “I’m Master Sergeant Lawrence. We’re gettin’ a lot of new volunteers just now, since Lincoln’s called up the Yanks. We got you all housed in a room here for the time being, but you’ll be movin’ out come the first. Don’t get comfortable.” He swung open a door and Rafe saw three rows of bunks, thin hay-stuffed mattresses rolled up at the end of each bed, a square of rolled up blanket placed in the exact center of each. A half dozen other young men were sitting around a table, playing cards. They looked up when the newcomers arrived, saw Sergeant Lawrence, and scrambled to their feet to attention.

“Gentlemen, this here’s our newest volunteer, Rafe Colton. Congratulate the man, he got married today.”

The men kept their eyes forward. Rafe tried a brief smile, found it didn’t fit on his face, and put his satchel down at his feet. Unsure of what, if anything, to do or say, he merely stood. Finally Sergeant Lawrence said, “At ease,” and the other men relaxed their stance.

“Cox, show our Mr. Colton a bunk, tell him the basics, and teach him cards. A couple more days of waitin’, and we’ll be off. After that there won’t be time for lollygagging, so enjoy it now.” He nodded to Rafe, made a snappy turn, and left the barracks.

The young men broke the line and moved forward to greet Rafe. A middling tall youth with shaggy brown hair the color of mud came forward with his hand extended. “Jonathan Cox, from Kershaw.” They shook. “This here’s Patrick Donavan, from out Columbia way, and these boys is all brothers from Aiken: Abner, David, Isaac and Hezekiah Mitchell. Him you can call Hez.” The other men nodded their heads when their names were called.

“Where you from, Rafe?” Hez asked.

“Byrd’s Creek. Small town on Edisto Island.” He looked around at the room. It was stark, hastily put together to house new recruits. The three rows of six bunks each were rough hewn, as were the table and chairs. A fireplace at one end of the room looked like it hadn’t seen a fire in many a day. At least there were windows but they looked out onto trampled field, the formerly green grass now turned to churned dirt and rock.

“You really get married today?” Patrick asked, sitting back down at the table.

Rafe nodded, but he wasn’t ready to talk about Livvie. The thought of her in the inn without him was almost too much to bear. He knew she was there. There was nothing for it but for her to stay until tomorrow, as planned. So he would sleep in this Spartan barracks, and she would sleep in their marriage bed, alone. He closed his eyes at the thought.

Livvie woke with the sun shining in her window. She rolled over and laid her hand on the pillow next to her, closing her eyes and trying to imagine Rafe sleeping there, the sun glinting off his lashes, his face relaxed and handsome in sleep. She pictured his strong straight nose, his lips, high cheekbones, straight brows. His hair falling over his forehead. She buried her face in the pillow, wishing it smelled like him.

Rolling on her back, she stared at the ceiling awhile, willing herself not to cry. She was a grown woman, a wife. If she was old enough to marry, she was old enough to take what the Lord gave her. This didn’t surprise God, so He thought them strong enough to deal with it. And so she would be. She got up, poured water from the blue and white jug on the chest of drawers into the matching bowl, and washed her face. She glanced at her image in the looking glass and gasped at the sight.

She pulled her nightdress over her head, trying not to remember that she’d brought it especially for her wedding night. Standing on an oilcloth, she used a piece of toweling to wash her body. She scrubbed herself dry with a large towel until her skin glowed pink, then dressed in Rafe’s favorite blue dress, attaching the white collar and smoothing the fabric. He might not see her today, but she was his wife, and she would look the way she knew would please him. She removed the silver backed brush from her valise and brushed out her chestnut hair until it shone, then wound it up into a bun and secured it. Moving back to the looking glass, she nodded in satisfaction.

Pulling open the door, she walked confidently out into the narrow hall. An elderly couple was exiting the room opposite, and smiled in warm greeting. They all made their way to the public room, and sat together at a polished walnut table.

“What brings you to Charleston, my dear?” the woman asked.

“My husband has joined the 1st Infantry,” she said, and was proud that her voice didn’t waver when she said it.

“Marvelous!” boomed the man, his bald pate glowing slightly with perspiration. He was large and dressed in a heavy dark wool suit, much too warm for April in the South. “More men should heed President Davis and volunteer! Keep Lincoln on his toes, make him think twice before he attacks.”

Livvie smiled and stirred sugar into her coffee. “And what brings you here?” she asked them.

“We’re coming home!” he said, his loud voice carrying all over the downstairs of the inn. “I was born here, moved to New York with my parents when I was a but a lad. But with this nonsense about the Confederate States being in rebellion, and with most of my family still down here, well, I said to the missus it was time to come home, throw our support behind Mr. Davis and South Carolina.”

Turning to the woman, she asked, “And are you from South Carolina, too, ma’am?”

Smiling weakly, she shook her head. Her white hair was in a tidy bun, and she was dressed very nicely in dark blue velvet. “My family has lived in New York since before Independence,” she said quietly.

Shocked, Livvie looked at her husband. “Do you have children?” she asked.

“Never did, never did. So what was to keep us in the North, I ask you?” He turned to the young serving woman standing by the kitchen door. “Miss, I require a large breakfast! Bacon, buttered toast, eggs, milk… Whatever you’ve got back there, tell them to send it out.” He patted his bulging stomach.

“What… what will your family do if there’s war?” Livvie asked the woman.

“Fight,” she answered sadly, glancing at her husband.