TWENTY-SIX

When the lunch bell rang, Clara and the other ladies gathered around a table that was used for dining during the winter months. As soon as she’d eaten, Clara excused herself and donned her cape, bonnet, and gloves. She walked outside, inhaled a deep, stinging breath, and filled her lungs with the crisp air. A quick walk around the grounds would be a welcome relief for her aching back and cramped legs.

The late-November sun shone through the tree branches and cast spidery shadows across the path. Clara smiled down at the imaginary web and stepped through the maze like a child playing hopscotch. A light wind fluttered through the trees, and she pulled her cloak tight around her neck as she strode toward the massive stone arch at the Arsenal entrance. She wouldn’t go as far as the arch or she’d be late returning to work. Then again, perhaps if she quit picking her way through the shadows, she could make it.

“Clara!”

At the sound of her name, Clara glanced over her shoulder toward the laboratory. Bea was clutching her cloak with one hand and holding her hat in place with the other as she ran toward her. Clara came to a halt and waved, surprised that Bea was seeking her out. She and Bea hadn’t talked since the morning she’d attempted to clarify the comments that she and Joseph had made to the police. Clara wasn’t sure if Bea was still angry about the police visit or if she had changed her schedule. Clara had hoped that after her explanation, Bea and Jeremiah understood the comments to the police had been innocent, though she remained uncertain.

Bea was panting when she came to a stop beside Clara. “Give me a minute. I’m out of breath.” She patted her chest while she took several quick breaths. “I’ve been watching for you every day on my way to work.” She gulped another breath. “I haven’t seen you. How have you been? I miss you.”

Clara tipped her head and looked at Bea. “I still leave home at the same time and walk the same route each day. Perhaps you’re leaving home earlier or later than you used to?”

Bea shrugged. “Maybe that is it. I can sleep a little later in the morning now that I don’t have to nag Jeremiah to get dressed and out the door. It’s rather nice having him work nights.” She slipped her hand into the crook of Clara’s arm and pulled her close. “We need to have a nice long visit, just the two of us. I was hoping you’d agree to come over this evening. Jeremiah will be at work, so he won’t be around to bother us.”

Although she should remain at home and help her mother with some sewing, Clara wanted to mend their friendship. Perhaps she’d ask her mother if there was some smaller article she could take and stitch at Bea’s apartment.

When she didn’t immediately answer, Bea pinned her with a pleading look. “Please say yes.”

“I’ll do my best. I need to help my mother with some sewing. Maybe there’s some handwork I can bring along to complete while we visit.”

Bea squeezed her arm. “I can hardly wait. You could even come for supper.”

Clara shook her head. “I can’t do that, but I’ll try to be there by seven-thirty.” The bell rang in the distance, and they both took off at a run. When they neared the laboratory, Clara turned toward the cylinder room and waved. “I’ll see you this evening.”

Throughout the remainder of the day, Clara thought about the upcoming visit with Bea. Why had she been so determined to see her this evening after more than a week had passed without a word from her? She’d seemed almost frantic when Clara hadn’t given her an immediate answer. Her behavior had been so odd. Bea was usually in control and self-assured. The one who could either solve all the problems or find someone else who could do so for her. Was that what this was about? Did Bea have a problem? If so, was she hoping Clara would be the one to help?

She walked up the steps of the boardinghouse and tried to push the thought aside. Bea was probably lonely with Jeremiah working nights, and if Clara could help fill that void, she should do so—at least occasionally.

Her mother looked up from her sewing when Clara entered their rooms. She leaned down and kissed her mother’s cheek. “I think I smelled cabbage downstairs.”

“Mrs. Ludwig’s famous cabbage rolls.”

Clara wrinkled her nose. “I should have accepted Bea’s invitation to supper.”

“Bea invited you for supper? I thought she hadn’t been meeting you to walk to and from work.”

“We haven’t been, but she stopped me at lunch and invited me to come over. I told her I had promised to help you. But if there’s something I could take with me, I’d like to go and visit with her after supper.”

Her mother leaned to one side and reached into her sewing bag. She withdrew a linen infant gown centered with a panel of pin tucks edged in lace. “I made this for Mrs. Seward.”

“Mrs. Seward? Surely she’s not having a baby.”

“No.” Her mother shook her head. “The gown is a gift for her niece’s new baby. You need only embroider on the tiny bodice and along the lace that edges the pin tucks.” She hesitated a moment. “And if you have time, perhaps along the hemline, as well. I don’t think it will take long, and you can visit while you sew.”

Clara carefully folded the tiny gown and wrapped it in a piece of cloth before placing the garment in her sewing bag. “Let’s go downstairs and enjoy our cabbage rolls.” She opened the door, glanced over her shoulder, and grinned. “I don’t think it will take me long to eat my supper.”

During supper, Clara managed to eat most of her cabbage roll by making certain she accompanied each bite with a small piece of bread. As soon as she’d finished, she excused herself, hurried back upstairs, and donned her cloak, bonnet, and gloves.

She picked up her sewing bag and stopped in the dining room only long enough to bid her mother good-bye. “I’ll be home by ten o’clock.”

Mrs. Ludwig reached for the bowl of potatoes and smiled at Clara. “See that you are. I wouldn’t want to lock you out. You’d be frozen by morning.”

“Don’t let her scare ya, Miss Clara.” Mr. Gryska, who rented a single room upstairs, waved his napkin in the air. “If she locks ya out, just throw a pebble at my window and I’ll come downstairs and unlatch the door.”

The laughter of the boarders followed her down the hallway, and she smiled at the thought of throwing pebbles at Mr. Gryska’s window. Once outside, she quickened her pace. The temperature had fallen at least five more degrees, and the wind cut through her cloak with surprising ease. Though the apartment wasn’t far away, the bone-chilling wind made the walk far more uncomfortable than Clara had expected. No doubt it would be even colder on her return. She pushed the thought aside as she knocked on the apartment door a short time later.

Bea opened the door and frowned. “I didn’t realize it was so cold.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, then rushed to close the door. “Is it the wind? It didn’t seem this cold earlier.”

Clara nodded as Bea took her cloak and hung it on a peg. She lifted her sewing bag and followed Bea into the parlor. “Mother did ask me to do a bit of embroidery while I’m here. I hope you don’t mind. I’m used to visiting while I sew, and I promise I’ll hear every word you say.” When Bea shook her head, Clara removed the infant gown from her bag and unwrapped the cloth.

Bea leaned forward to gain a better look. “Oh, hold it up so I can see.”

Clara lifted the gown and pointed to the lace edging along the bottom. “Isn’t it lovely? It’s a gift for one of Mrs. Seward’s nieces who recently gave birth.”

Too late, Clara realized she shouldn’t have mentioned the Seward name, for Bea immediately glowered. “Speaking of the Sewards, that policeman seems to have a fondness for this apartment house. He’s out there almost every evening.” She motioned to the front of the house. “He moves behind that huge oak when either Jeremiah or I draw near. Guess he thinks we can’t see him.”

“Patrolman Hanover?” Clara arched her brows.

“Right. The one who thinks Jeremiah is responsible for the shooting at the Sewards’ mansion.” She cleared her throat. “Thanks to Joseph.”

“So, you’re still angry with him?”

Bea shrugged. “A little. It’s hard to get over what happened when there’s a patrolman loitering outside our door all the time. At least he can’t bother either of us when we’re at work. I thought maybe he’d be coming to the Arsenal every day, but Andrew told me the police have no authority at the Arsenal—only the military do—so Patrolman Hanover can’t bother us there. In some ways, it makes me want to stay on the other side of those arches all the time.”

“Don’t be silly, Bea. Even the soldiers don’t want to live at the Arsenal. You would hate having to be there all the time. Besides, I didn’t see anyone outside the house when I arrived.” Clara reached in her bag and withdrew a needle from her sewing kit. “I do wish you wouldn’t continue to hold a grudge against Joseph.”

“So you’ve said.”

Clara wanted to get off this unpleasant merry-go-round and visit about something else. She’d come here to mend their friendship, not argue. Clara threaded the needle with a piece of pink embroidery thread and pushed the needle into the thin fabric. “How is Andrew? He seems to be quite smitten with you.”

Bea smiled and nodded. “We’re very fond of each other. But the chances of us ever having a future together are unlikely now that he’s received orders and is being sent to the front.” She pushed her lips into a disgusted grin. “I’m sure Joseph already told you about his orders.”

Clara sucked in a breath. “No, I didn’t know. Honest, Bea. So, when does he leave?”

“He was told they’d probably be leaving in a few days, maybe even tomorrow—he wasn’t given an exact date. He was here last evening, but he can’t leave the Arsenal anymore. I’ll probably never see him again. He’ll go to the front and be killed.”

“You mustn’t think like that, Bea. We both need to pray for his safe return.”

“That’s your answer to everything. I already told you that prayer didn’t keep my pa alive, and I don’t believe it’s going to help Andrew. I’m sure there’s been somebody back home praying for all those soldiers who have already died in the war. Didn’t do them much good, either, did it?”

Clara frowned. “I’m going to pray for Andrew whether you do or not. God hears our prayers. They aren’t always answered the way we’d like, but He hears and knows our hearts. If you want to place blame, you need to condemn man, not God.”

“That doesn’t help me or Andrew. I need a plan that will keep Andrew here.” Bea edged closer. “If I thought there was some way to do that, would you help?”

Clara continued embroidering the gown’s hemline with pink feather stitches. “Andrew can’t disobey his orders, and there’s nothing I can do that would help him remain here.”

“But if you could?” Bea arched her brows.

There had been a hint of aggression in Bea’s voice. An edge that caused Clara’s heart to race. Bea was up to something, and she obviously hoped to draw Clara into the midst of her plan. That thought gave Clara pause.

“If it isn’t anything illegal or immoral, I would be willing to help, but it’s difficult to answer when I don’t know exactly what you want me to do.”

Bea’s shoulders drooped. “You should know I wouldn’t ask you to do anything illegal or immoral. I’m hurt that you would even think such a thing.”

Clara silently chided herself. Rather than making things better between the two of them, she was only making matters worse. “What is it I can do, Bea?”

“When Andrew told me about his orders last night, he mentioned he’d talked to Joseph about possibly getting them changed so he can stay here and help Joseph with an investigation.” She hiked a shoulder. “I’m sure Joseph has told you all about that.”

“No, he hasn’t said a word.”

So, this was why Bea had been so eager to have Clara come for a visit. She hoped to gain some sort of favor. Clara had arrived anticipating restoration of their friendship—a return to the companionship they’d once shared. However, it appeared their reestablished friendship wasn’t Bea’s primary objective—she wanted something more. Clara braced herself. There was little doubt the request involved Andrew and his recent orders. That also meant Joseph would somehow be involved. Clara winced at the possibility. She wanted to mend her friendship with Bea, yet she doubted there was any way she or Joseph could help. She also worried Bea wouldn’t accept a negative response.

Bea’s tight smile signaled a lack of belief. “You’re telling me Joseph hasn’t mentioned that most of the troops at the Arsenal are leaving—that they’ve been ordered to join General Burnside at Warrenton, Virginia?”

Clara gasped and shook her head. “How do you know that?”

She was certain Andrew shouldn’t be sharing information about where the troops were being sent. While he could freely divulge that he’d received orders, exposing the fact that he was joining troops fighting with General Burnside and that they were encamped at Warrenton shouldn’t be disclosed to anyone.

Bea shrugged. “Andrew told me. He said I couldn’t tell anyone, but I was certain you already knew.”

Clara’s stomach tightened in a knot. “But I didn’t. You betrayed his confidence, and he betrayed his military training. If anyone discovers he’s been telling you military secrets, he could be punished as a traitor.”

“I think your comments are a bit extreme, Clara—especially in this instance. You’re not going to tell anyone, Joseph and Andrew already know, and I’m not going to make further mention of the information.”

Clara placed the tiny gown in her lap. “What about Jeremiah? I would venture a guess that you’ve already told him.”

Bea shook her head. “Only that Andrew received orders and will be leaving—nothing more.” She lifted her hand as if taking an oath. “I promise.”

A stab of doubt pierced her. But Clara wanted to believe her friend, so she offered a fleeting smile. She hoped Bea understood the seriousness of the matter. On occasion, Bea seemed to place little concern on matters that were of great importance—at least that was how it appeared to Clara. While she didn’t want to think that her friend wasn’t loyal to the cause, the fact that Bea would share confidential military information worried her. Even worse was the fact that Andrew would tell Bea. How had she coaxed the information from him? Clara pushed the question from her mind. In truth, she didn’t want to know the answer.

Bea reached for Clara’s hand. “Here’s where I need your help, Clara.” When Clara attempted to withdraw her hand, Bea held fast. “I don’t want Andrew going to the front. There’s little doubt that he’ll die, and I’ll never see him again.”

“You don’t know that, Bea. I’ve already said we need to—”

“I know. Pray.” Bea shook her head. “Just listen to me for a minute. He wants to remain here and help Joseph with the investigation.”

Clara frowned. This wasn’t making any sense. “How can Andrew help Joseph investigate the shooting at the Sewards’ mansion? Joseph isn’t involved in the investigation.”

Bea exhaled a long sigh. “You know I’m not talking about the Seward investigation. Andrew wants to help with the investigation into the fouled ammunition that’s been received by troops fighting on the front lines.”

Clara’s mouth dropped open. “I know nothing about this. Is it ammunition from our Arsenal? When did this happen, and how much of it was damaged?” She narrowed her eyes. “Is this information from Andrew, as well?”

“Yes, but don’t judge us, Clara. We’re in love, and I want him near me. Besides, he truly believes he can help Joseph discover how this has happened. There isn’t any word as to how the ammunition was damaged or which arsenal made the ammunition, but that’s why he wants to remain here—so he can help determine who is responsible.” Bea touched a handkerchief to the corner of her eye, although Clara hadn’t noticed any tears. “I hope you’ll be willing to speak to Joseph and see if he can influence the colonel to change Andrew’s orders.”

“I admire Andrew’s wish to help, but I don’t think his noble desires will be enough to keep him here. I’m sure there are soldiers who are especially proficient in these inquiries. Unless Andrew has some unique knowledge or ability, I don’t believe anything Joseph says will affect Andrew’s orders.”

Bea tucked her chin and scowled. “What you think doesn’t matter. You need to ask Joseph.”

Clara was rendered momentarily speechless by Bea’s forceful demand. The silence stretched and thinned like morning fog. Clara waited, but Bea didn’t retract her request. Instead, she continued to look into Clara’s eyes with an air of determination and expectancy.

Finally, Clara mustered her courage. “I can’t possibly do what you’re asking, Bea. I’m positive Joseph doesn’t have enough influence to gain a change of orders for Andrew. I doubt that even the colonel could supersede an order requiring his troops be sent to the front. You’re asking for the impossible.”

“You don’t know it’s impossible since you won’t even ask. If you were a true friend, you’d be willing to plead Andrew’s case to Joseph.” She curled her lip. “Of course, you don’t have to give the matter much thought because you know Joseph won’t be sent along with the other soldiers. It isn’t fair that Joseph gets to stay while Andrew and the others must go.”

Clara’s head snapped back as though she’d been slapped. Did Bea really believe what she’d just said? How could she believe Clara cared so little about the soldiers marching off to war? Her father had died at Bull Run, Joseph had been injured in that same battle, and she had no idea of her brother’s whereabouts. She cared deeply about the men fighting for the Union. If Bea was a true friend, would she even question Clara’s compassion? The thoughts tumbled on top of each other like a ball rolling downhill and gaining speed.

After picking up her sewing kit, Clara shoved the needle and thread inside, folded the tiny gown and tucked it into her sewing bag, and stood. “I think I should go now. Nothing I say is going to please you, Bea, but I have always attempted to be a true friend.”

Bea tugged at her hand. “Don’t go, Clara. I’m sorry. You’re right. I was selfish to ask you to interfere. Since the first day we met, you’ve been a faithful friend. You have to believe that if I weren’t so frightened for Andrew, I would never have asked you to speak with Joseph.” She stood and embraced Clara. “You’re the very best friend I have ever had. Please forgive me. I don’t want you to leave until I know you’re not angry.”

Clara sighed. “I forgive you, Bea.” She returned Bea’s hug, then strode to the door and gathered her cloak. “I really must get home.”

Bea followed her to the door. “You promise you’re not angry?”

Clara tied her bonnet and pulled on her gloves. “I promise. I’m hurt, but not angry. Wait at the corner, and we can walk to the Arsenal together in the morning.”

Clara turned the knob and pushed open the front door of the boardinghouse. She wouldn’t need to throw pebbles at Mr. Gryska’s window tonight. She’d returned home far earlier than Mrs. Ludwig’s ten o’clock curfew. She removed her gloves as she walked up the flight of stairs to the rooms she shared with her mother.

Her mother greeted her with a look of surprise when she stepped inside the apartment. “You’re early. I thought you and Bea would need hours and hours to catch up on all your visiting.” She glanced at the clock. “And here it’s not even nine o’clock. I hope you didn’t have to return home because you weren’t feeling well.”

Clara set her sewing bag on the floor and then removed her cloak and bonnet. “Our visit didn’t go well.” She picked up her sewing bag and crossed the room. “I’m afraid I didn’t complete the fancy work on the infant gown, but I promise I’ll complete it tomorrow evening.”

Her mother patted the settee cushion. “Don’t worry about the handwork. Sit down and tell me what happened between you and Bea.”

Still chilled from the frigid wind, Clara rubbed her hands together and settled beside her mother. She leaned close and rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. “There are parts of our conversation that are sensitive, and I can’t repeat them, but I’m terribly disappointed in Bea. I feel as though the only reason she asked me to come for a visit is because she wanted a favor. When I said I didn’t think I could be of any help, she became angry and made unkind remarks about Joseph and me.”

Her mother shifted and set aside the garment she was stitching. “As I recall, this isn’t the first time Bea has asked you for a favor. You two were barely acquainted when she asked you to have her moved from one room to another in the laboratory? Isn’t that right?”

Clara nodded. “Yes, but that wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have done for others.”

Her mother nodded. “I know, my dear. You always want to help. But Bea seems to depend on you for favors. I recall she also requested your help when there was a question about Jeremiah giving incorrect answers about his birthplace during an investigation, and then again when he wanted to change duties at the Arsenal. Didn’t Bea ask you to request Joseph’s help with those problems?”

“Yes.” Clara bobbed her head. “But then she became angry over the incident at the Sewards’ gala, and I’ve been attempting to make amends.”

“She may think you’ll be willing to do whatever she asks in order to restore your friendship, but you can’t always rely upon your own understanding. You need to weigh the seriousness of what she is asking of you. Would a true friend ask such favors? There’s a verse in Proverbs, chapter eighteen, which says a man who has friends must show himself to be friendly and then he will become closer than a brother. I know you want to be loyal to Bea, but you need to balance that loyalty with wisdom. Is she showing herself to be a good friend to you?” She laid her hand on Clara’s arm. “Good friends stick around long enough to know when you’re sad or frustrated. They also know and care if you’re happy. They’re supportive and rejoice with us. Do you believe Bea’s actions are intended to deepen your friendship or to serve her own selfish desires?”

Tears pricked Clara’s eyes. She didn’t want to answer her mother’s question, but deep inside she knew the truth. All Bea had ever done was ask from their friendship. She wanted only to receive, and never to give. Had Bea ever truly cared about her?

Clara blinked back more hot tears. Bea had heard and shared military secrets, and if Clara told Joseph, what would happen to Andrew?

Fear hovered over Clara like a threatening rain cloud. If Bea could betray their friendship in this way, what more might she expect? Could Bea even be trusted?