As if knowing there was to be a funeral, Tuesday arrived with skies turned the color of sorrow, a deep slate gray that wept throughout the day.
It was late morning when Matthew, holding an umbrella to shield himself and his nephew from the light but steady rain, followed the wagon carrying his sister’s remains up the winding road to the cemetery. There were only a few people with them—Reverend Adair and Shannon, William Washburn, Jack Dickson, Dr. Featherhill, and, bringing up the rear, Sun Ling and her sister and brother-in-law.
Once at the cemetery, the four men who’d been hired by the undertaker carried the wooden casket from the wagon to the grave, then used ropes to lower it into the ground. Afterward they stepped back out of the way while the reverend spoke a few words of comfort, read a few verses of Scripture, and said a brief prayer for the dearly departed. And with that, Alice Jackson was laid to rest.
Todd’s shoulder pressed close against Matthew’s thigh, but the boy didn’t cry. Matthew understood Todd was doing his best to be strong. The boy understood death, even at his young age. Death meant his pa wouldn’t come home from the war. Now it meant he wouldn’t see his ma again either.
Matthew shook the reverend’s hand and thanked him. He nodded to Shannon, wanting to ask her to stay with him but for some reason unable to do so. He received William’s and Jack’s and the doctor’s condolences. He returned the respectful bows of the Sun sisters and Wu Lok. And finally, several minutes after the others had walked away, he and his nephew turned and made their way down the road from the cemetery and up the hillside to the silent, empty house that awaited them.
It was surprising how desolate it felt with Alice gone. Surprising because she had lived in the home less than two months, and much of that time she’d been bedridden. And yet her absence was keenly felt throughout.
Standing in the kitchen, Matthew looked with disappointment at the coffeepot that had been washed and dried and set to the back of the stove. Sun Ling must have washed it before they left for the funeral. Should he make another pot? Probably not. Besides, the stuff was expensive, and it wasn’t as easy to get as it had been before the war.
Well, if not coffee, then food. “Are you hungry, Todd?” He turned to look at the boy who’d followed him into the kitchen.
“No.”
“Well, sit down at the table. We need to eat whether we feel like it or not.”
Ignoring his uncle, Todd picked up Nugget and buried his face in his soft coat.
A weight pressed on Matthew’s chest. He wasn’t up to this task. What did he know about raising a boy? He’d never been around kids much. Not even when he was a kid himself. Even with Shannon’s help, he wasn’t going to make much of a father for Todd. Maybe it was just as well he would return to driving coach.
He closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, clearing his mind, trying not to worry about things he couldn’t change. Better to concentrate on today. Right now he needed to get Todd to eat something. Even a lousy father understood that much.
There was cold beef and a bottle of milk in the icebox and, beneath a cloth on the counter, a plate of bread rolls. He cut open a couple of rolls and put sliced beef into the center of each. Then he poured milk into two glasses. He didn’t much care for milk, but he figured it was part of setting a good example for the boy.
He motioned with his head toward the table and said, “Put Nugget down.”
Todd obeyed, but he did so with a sorrowful look.
Moments later, their lunch on the table and both of them seated, Matthew blessed the food and then picked up his sandwich to take a bite.
Todd sat with his eyes downcast, unmoving.
“Eat your lunch.”
“I’m not hungry, Uncle Matt.”
“Eat it anyway. Can’t let good food go to waste.”
The boy glanced up. There were tears in his eyes.
Matthew felt like a bully. Speaking in what he hoped was a gentler tone, he said, “Come on, Todd. You need to eat. You didn’t have breakfast. You need to eat something now.”
“Okay.” Todd sniffed, wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve, and picked up the sandwich with both hands.
Matthew’s sandwich tasted like sawdust, but he ate it all and downed every last drop of the milk in his glass. Then he waited while Todd did the same at a much slower pace.
Shannon didn’t need an excuse to go to the Dubois home. She was, after all, engaged to marry Matthew in less than a week. Still, she prepared a basket of food to take with her. Her father offered to go along, but he seemed to understand her wish to see Matthew alone. They’d barely been able to exchange three words in the past two days.
As she walked, she prayed that God would give her the words to help comfort Matthew and Todd. And she asked for comfort for herself, for she had lost a friend.
“I’m sorry, Miss Adair. I’m sorry you’ve had to experience the same kind of pain that so many other women are feeling because of the war. We shall be friends, you and I.”
Sweet Alice. At least she had no more pain. At least she was with her beloved husband again. But her passing had left a large hole in the lives of those who’d loved her. Especially in her son’s life.
“Poor Todd,” she whispered.
When she married Matthew on Sunday, Shannon would acquire not only a husband but custody of a nephew too. She would have to fill the role of mother, even if Todd never called her that. She’d known this, of course. Alice and Shannon had talked about it several times in the days immediately following Matthew’s proposal. But it hadn’t seemed real or imminent. It had seemed a distant possibility, despite Alice’s failing health. It was distant no more. She loved the boy already. But was love enough to make her a good mother to him?
She wondered then if Matthew had the same fears she did. Yes, he probably did.
“I will be his helpmeet. Together we will learn to be good parents to Todd. And to the children I will bear him.”
Saying those last words aloud caused her cheeks to grow warm with embarrassment, even though no one was around to hear. Unlike many unmarried young women of her acquaintance, Shannon knew somewhat more about anatomy and the union of a man and a woman that led to childbearing, thanks to her work in the army hospital and some medical books she’d read as she sought to become a better nurse.
The sound of hoofbeats approaching from behind her caused her to move closer to the shoulder of the street.
“Miss Adair.”
She stopped at the sound of her name and turned.
Joe Burkette slowed his mount as he drew closer. “You haven’t been to the livery for the past week. I was concerned. Have you been unwell?”
What was it about this man that bothered her so? She wanted to like him. Truly she did. But she couldn’t. “No, Mr. Burkette. I have not been unwell. Only busy.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” He dismounted, and as he stepped closer he sniffed the air. “Mmm. Fried chicken if I’m not mistaken.”
“Yes.”
“Did you cook it yourself, Miss Adair?” He raised an eyebrow. “You do surprise me.”
She inclined her head as a reply.
“I’ve been hoping for another opportunity to ask you to go riding with me.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Burkette. I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?” He gave her a slow smile. “You must know I would like to know you better, Shannon. I think you beautiful and I—”
“I’m engaged to be married, sir.”
There was a long silence before he said, a hard edge in his voice, “Not to that Dubois fellow.”
“Yes.” She tilted her chin. “As a matter of fact, it is Mr. Dubois I’m going to marry. We plan to wed on Sunday.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t have expected a true daughter of the Old Dominion to marry a Yankee.”
She pressed her lips together to stifle a retort. What business was it of his whom she married? None at all, and he presumed too much to think he had a right to say anything.
“Some would call you a traitor for it.”
Shannon’s resolve not to answer him evaporated. “Mr. Burkette, I have learned a great deal since leaving Virginia. One of the lessons I’ve learned is that my father is right: we must do all that we can—short of disobeying God—to live at peace with others. I will no longer judge someone based upon where they were born or where they were raised or whether or not they have taken up arms for or against the Confederacy. We are all sinners who have earned God’s wrath instead of His grace.”
With a toss of her head, she started walking again. “Good day, sir.”
The gall of the man. How could she have ever thought she should like him? That she should prefer him over Matthew? There was nothing remotely appealing about him, and simply because his birthplace was in the South and his family had known hers two generations ago did not make him a gentleman. He was less gentlemanly than Matthew by far, no matter how highly he valued himself.
She would have to move Ginny from the livery. At once. Surely there was room for the mare in the stable behind Matthew’s house.
She would speak to him about it. Today wasn’t the best time, of course, but she couldn’t abide the thought of running into Joe Burkette again. Insufferable man!
Perhaps she didn’t have the passion for the Confederate cause she’d once had. Perhaps she no longer believed a victory on her side was what mattered most. Perhaps more of her father’s beliefs and opinions— about peace, about slavery, about a united nation—had taken root in her heart and mind as never before. And perhaps that was because of Alice and Matthew and Todd.
A fine sheen of perspiration had formed on her forehead by the time she reached the Dubois home. She knocked and waited for the door to be answered. It was Todd who did so, Nugget right behind him, and seeing him, she forgot her encounter on the road for the moment. The boy’s eyes, so much like his mother’s, revealed such sorrow Shannon feared she might burst out crying. The pup, on the other hand, jumped up in welcome.
Swallowing her tears, Shannon said, “Hello, Todd.” She held up the basket. “I brought fried chicken. You told me it was your favorite. Remember?”
He nodded.
“May I come in?”
He nodded again before turning and walking away.
As she entered, Matthew appeared in the parlor doorway. Although his expression didn’t change much, she thought he looked glad to see her.
“I brought fried chicken,” she repeated.
“Thanks.”
“I hope Sun Ling hasn’t already begun preparing your supper.”
“She isn’t here.”
“Oh?” Shannon looked toward the kitchen.
“I . . . I gave her the day off.” After a few moments of silence, he added, “I’m glad you came.”
Love surged in her chest. She longed to go to Matthew, to hold him, to comfort him, but she couldn’t. A woman must wait for the man to speak first, to move first. It’s what she had been taught by her mother from the time she was a little girl.
She held up the basket. “I should put this in the kitchen.”
“Here. Let me take it.” He stepped toward her and reached out with one hand.
Shannon gave the basket to him, then followed him into the kitchen.
“Would you like to eat with us?” he asked, his back toward her.
“Father expects me home before supper.”
“Of course.” He faced her again. “I reckon he wants as much time with you as possible before the wedding.”
Nerves fluttered in her stomach. “I suppose that is true, though it isn’t as if he won’t see me as often as he wishes. This house is not so very far from the church.”
“Guess you’re right.” He cleared his throat. “One of the last things Alice said to me was that we weren’t to change our wedding plans. She was plum set on it, even as she was dying.”
Tears welled in Shannon’s eyes. “I loved her too,” she whispered.
“I know you did.”
She thought of Joe Burkette saying she was a traitor because she was going to marry this man. Hadn’t she believed much the same thing about friendship with Alice Jackson? How silly, to hang a name on someone and hate them for it—Yankee, Rebel, white, black, yellow, red.
She had much to repent of, it seemed.