Elizabeth lay where she had tripped and fallen. She heard Colter whispering her name, shivered and huddled her body so he couldn’t find her. But minutes later, he lifted her up into his arms, and without a word, carried her into the house.
With his foot he dragged a bench closer to the kitchen fire, then he set her down gently. She sat while he added kindling and small logs to the banked coals. She lost track of time as he left and returned, offering her a glass of brandy.
“Drink it down, Elizabeth, and then we’ll talk.” Colter tossed off his own drink, refilled his glass from the bottle he brought with him and sat beside her.
Sipping gingerly at the liquor, Elizabeth watched the flames greedily lick at the wood. With the glass clasped between his hands, Colter drew her gaze as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his spread knees. The growing light flickered shadows over his face, and she welcomed the burning swallow of brandy she took to help still the clamor of her body.
She still wanted him.
He saw the tremble of her hand and set his glass down to remove his coat. She was shaking by the time he draped it over her shoulders. For a moment he stood behind her, wanting to touch, to bring cessation to the seething emotions he sensed in her. He didn’t trust himself to be gentle. Picking up his glass, he sat staring at the fire.
Impatient to begin, he looked at her glass and realized that Elizabeth, given any more time, would build a solid wall he couldn’t hope to break down. He was a soldier, he reminded himself, good at his job. He knew how to find a weakness in an enemy’s fortification.
“I apologize,” he stated abruptly, “for what I said. I was angry with myself for losing control, not you.”
“Forgiveness? Acquittal? Whatever it is that you want, Colter, you have it. But, please, if you have any mercy, leave the matter be.”
In a very controlled, soft voice he asked, “Have you already twisted what I said? Do you believe that I called you ‘whore’?” His fingers clenched the glass until his knuckles whitened. “Have you, Elizabeth?” he repeated without looking at her. He didn’t dare glance her way. His control was shredding. “You asked me for mercy, madam. If you have any of your own, you will answer me.” Every breath he drew was released slowly. He was trying. He was!
“Damn you! I did not call you a whore!” Shattered glass punctuated his caustic cry. The flames leaped out at them, fueled by the splash of brandy.
Devastated by his explosion, Elizabeth dropped her own glass.
“Why the hell don’t you run now?”
“I can’t, Colter,” she whispered, knowing it was the truth. “I told you last night, there is nowhere left to go.”
The utter defeat of her voice defused his rage. He was stunned by how quickly she had unwound him. Colter looked at her and saw in her eyes pain and acceptance.
“What have I done to you?” he asked, almost of himself. His hand shook as he reached out to touch her cheek. Soft. So soft. But her skin was cold. “I thought to bring you my protection against whatever might harm you. Instead, I find that you most need protection from me.”
His voice was tormented. His eyes reflected the agony in his soul. Elizabeth wanted to close her eyes, seal her heart and deny him the comfort he needed from her. But her hand rose, not to push his away, but to cover it, pressing its warmth to her cheek.
“I would not have you leave without peace between us. I have no right to the protection you offer, but I will accept it for Nicole.” She saw the storm gathering in his eyes before she felt the tension in his hand. “You must listen and accept what I say. I will not try to stop you from seeing her whenever you can, nor will I deny Emily and the others what you can do to ease their lot. But I am to blame for what happened out there tonight—me, Colter, not you. I have forgotten that I am James’s wife—”
“No! I will not—”
“Colter.” Just this once she let the love she felt shine in her eyes. “Until I know what has happened to him, I am his wife. Until the war is over, you’re not free. If there even is a freedom to be had.”
“Your terms of compromise are harsh, Elizabeth. Perhaps I should have sought a position with the secretary of war for you.”
“But you will accept them?” she pleaded, knowing that if he did not…no, it was cruel to think of not seeing him again. With gentle persuasion she urged his hand to her lips and kissed his palm.
“I will find out what happened to James,” he proclaimed in a strident voice.
“I pray you do.”
Her sigh fluttered her breath across his palm and no more was said. But Colter had never been one to accept defeat meekly. He didn’t intend to begin now.
Like a child, Elizabeth wanted to hold back time, greedy over every moment that slipped away until it was time for Colter to leave. Her thought from the night before that she was a thief willing to steal what she could was grounded in fact. She had stolen Colter’s shirt, guiltily hiding it beneath her pillow. It turned out to be a needless act. Acting on faith that she would keep her word and allow him to return, Colter left behind whatever belongings he had brought with him.
Mister Josh led Colter’s horse to the front door, where they all waited. “Take care of this here horse, Colonel,” Josh said by way of parting, and handed over the reins.
Rutha gave him a tied napkin bundle. “’Pears I’s givin’ back your own, Colonel. Jus’ ham an’ biscuits to keep you until I get to feed you again.”
“You keep that fire going and make a little extra come supper, Rutha. I’ll be back,” he promised, tucking the bundle into his saddlebag.
“My prayers go with you, Colter,” Emily said when he turned to walk back. She blushed as prettily as a maid when he kissed her cheek and whispered something to her. Then he kneeled down and opened his arms to Nicole.
“A soldier can’t go off to fight unless his princess gives him a token.” Expecting her hug, Colter received more. Kisses. As many as she could place wherever she could reach. He used untold strength to control his own hug of her small body. Colter blessed and cursed the war that had brought him his daughter only to tear him away from her again. “Nicole,” he whispered, “you take good care of everyone for me. Especially yourself.”
She solemnly nodded. “An’ you promise—”
“I’ll remember my promise.” Reluctantly he released her and forced himself to stand. He saw Elizabeth look askance and hurried to explain, unaware that he absently rubbed his daughter’s head and held her by his side.
“Each night at five o’clock I’ve promised to look at my pocket watch and remember that Nicole will be listening to the chimes in her castle while she prays for me.”
“As I will. As we all will pray for your safety.” With a pleading look, Elizabeth found support from Emily and Rutha. Between them they managed to get Nicole to return to the house. Now Elizabeth and Colter stood alone and she didn’t know what to say. Admonishments for him to take care, keep warm and stay out of harm’s way all seemed foolish to whisper, yet those were the words that welled up. As did tears.
Bareheaded, Colter closed the distance between them. He lifted her chin and with his lips drank each tear.
“You are the only truth I have ever known. I love you, Elizabeth, and maybe…” His voice faltered, and he had to swallow before he could finish. “Maybe that is all I need to know.” His lips caressed her mouth with a tender but fleeting touch.
She closed her eyes, knowing by the creak of leather that he had mounted. When she was sure he had gone, she whispered, “Come home to me, Colter. I love you.”
Elizabeth thought she had heard the last of Colter for some time to come, but as they sat down for supper that night, a private arrived with a message from him. Rutha fed the young man and sent him on his way before Elizabeth read Colter’s missive.
Her name was scrawled in bold masculine script across the top of the parchment. With one finger she traced the letters, feeling the power of Colter’s hand, joyful that whatever its content, he had been thinking of her. But as she began to read, she chided herself for even harboring the thought that he had sent a declaration of his feelings.
I beg you, Elizabeth, to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Hugh Morgan, arrived this day in Richmond. Her husband, you will recall, is known to you and is a man I respect and count as my friend. As of this writing, her residence is uncertain. A position is being secured for her at the Treasury, likely in the note department. She is alone in our city, Elizabeth, so whatever comfort you offer to improve her lot will place me in your debt.
Colter Wade Saxton
Colonel Confederate Army
Pressing the note to her breast, she wondered what Colter would be thinking of to ask her to befriend a stranger. But no matter its content, she would treasure this first written missive from him.
Emily grew concerned at her continued silence and asked if the news could be shared. Elizabeth read her the note and then explained her own fears.
“I do not mean to make light of them, Elizabeth, but, my dear, Colter would not put you or Nicole at risk. Remember,” she stated, and then went on in a softer voice, “I may be a foolish old woman—”
“No. Never foolish, Emily.”
“Well, I believe this is his way of asking for your trust. The time he spent here has already determined your course.” Holding out her hand in both a gesture of comfort and to stop Elizabeth from speaking, Emily gently squeezed the younger woman’s fingers. “The way is a difficult one, with hard choices. You know you have my support. And what possible harm could come from doing as he asked and making this woman’s acquaintance? You need say no more than you wish if you find she is not to your liking.”
“You’re right.” Freeing her hand, Elizabeth folded her letter and smoothed it on her lap. “But Emily, I did meet Hugh Morgan and he knows I’m married. If this—”
“Do you believe Colter would leave you exposed to a lie?”
“I don’t know. But if his wife asks, if anyone overheard her reveal who I am…I know you’ve told me that Alma couldn’t find us here, but there is a feeling I can’t explain that warns me to caution.”
“Then you must heed it,” Emily returned in her practical manner, knowing if she gave way to the fear and pain that Elizabeth expressed, the young woman would falter. “Wait until you attend work in the morning. She may not be there, and if she is, you will simply deal with the matter. If you continue this fretting, you’ll find yourself fearful and as useless to yourself and your child as a man attempting to saw sawdust. Now, I am going to retire. I suggest you do the same.”
Elizabeth nodded, indicating her agreement, but inside, the warning to be cautious flared brighter.
“The colonel say I take you,” Mister Josh insisted when Elizabeth refused his intent to drive her into the city.
“The colonel isn’t here, I am. And I will walk.”
“Now, Miz Elizabeth, the colonel warned me. He says, ‘Mister Josh, you take her an’ handle her like the mules. Ain’t much to tellin’ them ’part ’ceptin’ their ears.’”
Elizabeth glared at him, her hand still on the crochet-covered button that secured her lace collar. “You and the colonel are more like mules than I’ll ever be.” But her protest signaled the end of her argument, and she climbed up onto the wooden seat.
It was a crisp, clear morning, the sun strengthening as they rode along at a brisk pace. Elizabeth was nervous about starting her job and all of Secretary Memminger’s warnings and expectations drove other thoughts from her mind.
They approached the city and, to distract herself, Elizabeth began to admire the gracious homes set close to the street. More than a few were elegant houses of brick, built in a style touted as Greek revival. Two stories high, they had their own stables, quarters and kitchens in the yards behind, and were ornamented by well-tended gardens. She could almost imagine the scent of roses from the vines that clung to house walls. In spring, the jessamine, azaleas and japonicas, shrub and vine would all provide a glory of color and fragrance to intoxicate the senses and make one doubt there was a war going on.
But as Mister Josh directed the team closer to the location of the Note Bureau, Elizabeth saw wounded men, and women and children with dazed faces that brought back the reality of war.
Elizabeth straightened her bonnet when Mister Josh brought the wagon to a stop in front of the building. One of two soldiers on guard duty sprang forward to help her down. She thought about telling Josh that she would walk home but dismissed the idea, unwilling to argue with him again.
“Three o’clock, Josh.”
“I’ll be waitin’.”
Feminine voices of every pitch sang a chaotic opera inside the hall and Elizabeth, bemused, stared at their comings and goings. A portly matron of considerable years, a widow by her dress, finally noticed her and asked her business. When Elizabeth explained, she was told to follow. They ascended the stairs, the widow introducing herself as Mrs. Marstand. She proceeded to inform Elizabeth that the company of the women was pleasant, the work itself was not strenuous and the atmosphere many thought more suitable to a tea party than an office.
Within minutes of being shown her place at a table beneath a window that offered a view of the city, Elizabeth made the acquaintance of the two women who would train her.
Mrs. Thomas Galwey, slender and pale, projected a tragic air that was reenforced by the streak of pure white in her dark brown hair. She wore spectacles and her voice, the soft, melodious drawl of southern Virginia, reminded Elizabeth of home. Mrs. Candace Sawyer, with a lively pair of blue eyes and dimples she showed to advantage each time she smiled—which Elizabeth would come to learn was often—had a flighty nature that revealed itself in her speech. She would ask a question and before Elizabeth could form an answer, proceed to another subject.
The work, just as Mrs. Marstand claimed, was not difficult. Presented with pen, inkwell and a stack of unsigned treasury notes, Elizabeth had to number them. Several women walked the large room, their sole job to remove finished piles of notes and replace them as needed. Numbered stacks were carried to the front where they were signed and dated. Elizabeth had a tally sheet that listed the beginning number she was to start with, and it was her responsibility to note at day’s end the number that would begin her next morning’s work.
Writing consecutive numbers was not hard, but it was boring. She found herself listening to the gossip of the women around her. Most discussed with varying degrees of agitation the rising cost of flour. Last week it had been sixteen dollars a barrel, this week it was forty. Shoes and boots, she learned, when they could be had, were almost fifty dollars a pair. Salt, so indispensable, brought a loud chorus of groans that the price had fluctuated madly. One day it was seventy-five cents a pound, and the next day the city council had offered each person a pound at five cents. There were complaints that shirts cost twelve dollars and that the Negroes were better dressed than whites.
On and on…
Mrs. Galwey, when asked, began a discourse about the speculators, quartermasters and the commissaries, pointing out in her quiet way their underhanded dealings.
All agreed there was little they could do, but by that time, it was announced the workday was done. Wishing Mrs. Galwey, who had unbent enough to suggest Elizabeth might use her name, Tilda, good-night, Elizabeth took her mantle and bonnet from the hook assigned to her and left the building alone. Mister Josh was waiting as were other wagons and carriages, although most of the women were escorted to several hotels nearby where they roomed.
Reassured by Mister Josh that Nicole had been no more troublesome than any other child, Elizabeth let her thoughts drift to Colter. As Emily had pointed out last night, it was senseless for her to worry over what she couldn’t control, but she did hope that wherever he was, he would be safe.
Conversation at supper was enlivened by her relating her first day of work. The only somber note was Nicole’s listlessness. Elizabeth took care to spend the time before bed playing with her, but Nicole kept asking when Colter would return.
Sensing there was something wrong, Elizabeth sat on her daughter’s bed, stroking her hair. “Did something happen today, precious?”
“I picked nuts with Rua an’ Mister Josh found me a tree.”
“A tree?”
“For the swing.”
“You don’t sound too happy about it, Nicole. I thought that was what you wanted.” For a few moments, Elizabeth thought she was asleep and leaned over to place a last kiss on her forehead. But Nicole was still awake. Racking her mind, Elizabeth finally asked, “Did you do anything to make Mister Josh or Rutha yell at you?”
“Oh, no, Mama. I didn’t. I didn’t.”
Her small hand nestled into Elizabeth’s, leaving her mother at a loss to find out what was wrong. Nicole wasn’t frightened, she didn’t cling, not like those first nights…but what had disturbed her?
“Honey, you know you can tell Mama if you were bad. Telling the truth is more important than worrying about being punished. You know that. Please, sweet, tell me or I’ll worry.”
“I saw a man.”
“Oh, dear Lord!”
“I wasn’t bad.”
“No. No, of course not, Nicole.” Urging herself to be calm, Elizabeth brushed the hair back from her child’s temple. “Did you tell Mister Josh?” Nicole shook her head. “Why not? He wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. Do Rutha or Miss Emily know about this?” She realized that it was a foolish question; they would have told her. Trying to keep panic locked inside so she would not frighten Nicole, Elizabeth cuddled her close. “Did the man talk to you?”
“No. He watched.”
“Mister Josh didn’t see him?”
Again Nicole shook her head, clinging tightly to her mother’s hand. “He’d say I was ’tending again.”
“Tending? Pretending that you saw someone? Yes,” she answered herself before Nicole could, “of course he would think that. Well, my darling, you are not to worry. Mama will explain this to Mister Josh and Rutha. And I promise you they will keep watch to see if the man comes back. You know they love you and wouldn’t let anyone hurt you while Mama isn’t here.”
It was a long while before she could bring herself to leave her daughter. She spoke to Rutha and Josh alone, unwilling to alarm Emily, once again stressing to them her own nagging fear. They both promised to keep a closer watch on Nicole, and Josh said he would make sure no deserter was camping close by.
Elizabeth had to be satisfied with their assurances, but as she lay in bed that night, clutching Colter’s shirt to her cheek, she knew she would have to find a way to better protect her child. Colter might not return for months, and while she knew she would tell him about this, he couldn’t be depended upon to ensure their safety.
Thanksgiving was two weeks away and Mrs. Marstand mentioned they would be paid before the week’s end. Thanks to Colter’s generosity in filling their larder, she wouldn’t immediately need to buy foodstuffs. But she decided what her money could buy.
A gun. Josh had a ball-and-powder hunting rifle, but Elizabeth wanted a handgun. She had never used a weapon, but she could learn. Alma was not going to take her daughter. And no matter who believed her, she was sure that the woman had somehow found them.
The wind picked up, its wail almost mournful, and her sleep was restless, haunted by the past.
Outside, the man watching the house settled a thick wool blanket around his shoulders and leaned against a tree trunk, hoping there wouldn’t be snow before morning. He waited, keeping his vigil as he had been ordered.
And another unseen presence watched him.