Cheryl Reavis (20 page)

“All right! I understand. We have to preserve my brother’s standing as well as mine.”

“Exactly.”

“Does he know about this?”

Perkins hesitated. “I sent him a telegram.”

“
Everything
about this?” She was asking if he knew Robert Markham’s part in it, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say it.

“Most of it.” Perkins was looking at her so directly, and it was all she could do not to avoid his gaze.

“I...thought it best not to tell him Markham sent for you,” he said. “If he gave me an order contrary to what Markham is asking, I’d have to carry it out.”

“And I’d end up in the stockade.”

“Well, I don’t think we’d have to go that far—Castine!” he suddenly barked. “What are you doing?”

“Helping Mrs. Justice and Mrs. Colonel Woodard pack a basket for Miss Kate to take with her.”

“Well, hurry it along.”

“I don’t think I know how to hurry ladies, Sergeant Major,” he called.

“I don’t know how to hurry ladies, either,” Perkins said, “but we’re not going to tell him that.”

Kate gave a brief smile. “Thank you, Sergeant Major Perkins,” she said quietly. Perkins hadn’t missed her intense worry about Harrison, and regardless of his duty to her brother, he was going out of his way to make it possible for her to go to the boy.

“For what?” he asked innocently.

“You know what,” she answered, and surprisingly, he actually smiled in return. She was much more accustomed to his “sack and burn” face.

“Castine’s going, too,” he said.

Kate looked at him. She didn’t know whether this was good news or not—for Castine. Ever since he had escorted her and Valentina to army headquarters and she had seen him being so helpful with the boys, she had found his presence...comforting, but he was even more disconcerted by Mrs. Kinnard than she was.

She heard a long, drawn out train whistle in the distance. Castine came hurrying down the hallway carrying the same basket she was to have taken with her on her last train trip.

“I’ll carry the basket,” Kate said, because he was juggling a haversack, a knapsack and a repeating rifle as well.

“Yes, miss,” he said, handing it over.

“Kate!” Maria called, hurrying from the kitchen with Mrs. Justice in tow. When they reached her, they both embraced her, putting the basket in jeopardy of ending up on the parquet floor.

“Keep praying for him,” Kate whispered. “Please.”

“Don’t you worry about that, my dear,” Mrs. Justice said. “We will keep a prayer vigil for him, you can rest assured.”

“We’ve put everything Mrs. Justice and I could think of in the basket. Take care of yourself,” Maria said. “And send us word as soon as you know something. If he can be moved, you must bring him here to us.”

Kate nodded and hugged them both again. She looked around because Castine was coming down the stairs with her trunk.

“Mrs. Kinnard’s carriage is here,” Perkins said. “You got everything, Miss Kate?”

“Yes,” she said, because she was nearly certain that she had.

“All right then,” he said, and he opened the front door.

Chapter Fourteen

K
ate stood on the platform watching as the train slowed and lurched and finally stopped. Her mind had gone numb as the terrible significance of having to make this trip finally sank in. Harrison was seriously ill, and she had no idea how long this journey would take. All she knew was that she wanted to board the train as soon as possible and that—please, Lord—she didn’t arrive too late.

The passenger car filled rapidly, intensifying the smell of dust and sweat and baskets packed with food. And underneath it all the distinct smell of whiskey and tobacco and babies whose diapers needed changing. She half expected Valentina to show up; this would surely meet her criteria for an “adventure.”

Kate had to immediately change seats with Mrs. Kinnard, who couldn’t abide being next to the aisle and having people she didn’t know—and more importantly, who didn’t know
her
—brush and jostle past her. Kate wondered if Mrs. Kinnard had even been on a train before. If she hadn’t, this would be an eye-opening experience even under the best of circumstances.

Kate sat with the basket firmly in her lap, clutching the handle tightly as if that would help the situation somehow. She didn’t dare let it out of her sight with all these people around. The train car grew more and more crowded, much too crowded for Mrs. Kinnard. She kept giving sharp sighs and holding her perfume-laden handkerchief to her nose, which Kate assumed would continue until they reached wherever they were going. There apparently was no name for the whistle-stop where Harrison was supposed to be, but Perkins, ever efficient, had advised the conductor at what point Colonel Woodard’s sister and her party would need to detrain.

Castine, who was standing nearby, suddenly cleared his throat, and Kate looked up just as a man stepped into her line of vision.

“Miss Woodard,” the man said, bending low enough for Kate to smell the clover-scented pomade on his hair. “Do forgive me, but I’ve only just heard that Colonel Woodard’s sister was on the train. Might I persuade you to join me in my private car? You will travel much more comfortably there—my cook will prepare us a fine dinner. It would be an honor to offer some assistance to you—and your brother.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know who you are, sir,” she said, despite the fact that Mrs. Kinnard perked up immediately at hearing the words,
private
and
car.
Kate caught a glimpse of Castine, who was clearly trying to tell her something with his eyes. Unfortunately she had no idea what.

“Well, that is easily remedied,” the man said. “I’m Welles Burnham.” He said his name as if that should explain everything.

Castine seemed to be writing something on a piece of paper.

“Excuse me, sir,” Castine said, pushing his way forward. “Miss Woodard, I have a—this message for you.”

Kate took it, puzzled but intending to read it later, without this strange man hovering over her.

“You need to look at it now, Miss Woodard,” Castine said pointedly.

“Yes. Thank you, Private Castine.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Woodard,” he said as she opened the slip of paper.

She didn’t open it far; there was only one word written on it:
carpetbagger
.

Castine had apparently realized immediately that this was a situation that might cause his commanding officer some difficulty. Max could not be seen as a military commander who accepted favors from someone who was profiting from the local residents’ plight. Sergeant Major Perkins had taught Castine well.

Kate smiled slightly and handed the note to Mrs. Kinnard, who looked at it much longer than was required to read one word.

“Mr. Welles—” Mrs. Kinnard began when she was ready.

“Burnham,” the man corrected.

Mrs. Kinnard made no attempt to backtrack and use his correct name. “I’m sure Miss Woodard—
and I
—would be more comfortable in your private car, however, that is quite impossible. There have been no formal introductions from people we both know. I have no notion of how things are done where
you
come from, but
here—
as Colonel Woodard would certainly tell you—it would be most inappropriate to accept such an invitation. As Miss Woodard’s chaperone, I must decline your offer. Now. If you would take your leave.”

The man stood for a moment as if he didn’t believe Mrs. Kinnard could possibly be serious.

“Surely, an exception—”

“No exceptions. Goodbye, Mr. Welles,” Mrs. Kinnard added to underline what he was supposed to do next.

“Mrs. Kinnard,” Kate said when he had gone. “I do believe you enjoyed that.”

For a moment she thought Acacia Kinnard, the one who had stolen cookies on horseback, might actually smile.

But she didn’t.

“Private Castine,” she said abruptly, startling the young soldier once again. He looked in her direction. “That was...” She stopped, and Kate could see him bracing himself for yet another of her broadsides.

“Quite...adequately done,” Mrs. Kinnard decided, making his ears turn as red as Valentina’s indirect compliment had. “If you don’t do anything too uncouth for the rest of the journey, I shall be certain to advise Mr. Perkins of your handling of the situation.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kinnard,” he said quietly. But clearly he knew enough not to presume when a compliment was in as much danger of being withdrawn as that one was. “I was following orders, ma’am,” he said. “The sergeant major intends for you and Miss Woodard to have a safe journey.”

He glanced at Kate, and she gave him a small nod of approval.

All the seats were taken now, even the makeshift ones on bundles and baskets in the aisle. The train lurched and then began to move forward as the conductor passed through the car, asking for everyone’s ticket except Kate’s, Mrs. Kinnard’s and Castine’s, something that didn’t go unnoticed among the other passengers.

Kate closed her eyes as the train gained speed and moved away from the station into the dark countryside. An oil lamp had been lit at each end of the car, and when Kate looked across Mrs. Kinnard toward the window, she could only see their reflections in it. There was nothing to occupy her mind now. No overly familiar carpetbagger, no trip preparations, no handling of Mrs. Kinnard. There was only the worry and the longing to see her son again that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her.

Don’t worry—pray.

“Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee: He shall never suffer the righteous to be moved,” she whispered, not caring if Mrs. Kinnard heard her. But even as she said the words, there was still that nagging truth. She was not righteous. She had shamed her family, and she didn’t deserve God’s favor. She had thought she might when she’d promised to marry Grey, but after he was killed, she had never been able to convince herself that she could dare to be happy again.

John
.

She knew how much he loved Harrison and she knew how distressed he must be now.

Help us both, Lord,
she thought.
And please—please—help our son.

She gave herself up to the constant swaying of the car, and she managed to doze at times. So did Mrs. Kinnard. Castine, on the other hand, seemed to be alert and standing nearby whenever some slowing or accelerating of the train caused her to wake. She lost count of how many times the train actually stopped, but it seemed to her at one point that more people were getting off than were boarding. She kept thinking that there was but one comfort in all of this—Robert was with Harrison. She had no doubt that he would do everything he could for the boy, but all the while she knew she would have to guard against relying on him too much, regardless of what he had
almost
said.

Good
.

In retrospect, “good” could have meant anything. She had heard him say Eleanor’s name. That alone could leave no doubt that Eleanor Hansen had his heart.

She gave a heavy sigh and dozed again.

* * *

Robert stood waiting on the station platform. He kept staring down the tracks for some sign that the train was approaching, but he couldn’t hear anything or see the billowing plume of smoke from an engine. All he had was the indifferent stationmaster’s best guess as to when the northbound train would get here, and there were any number of events that could alter his estimation.

He walked to the end of the platform and back again—several times. The station itself was unlike any he’d ever encountered in his travels or during the war. It was a three-story wooden structure with a huge wraparound front porch. It didn’t look like a train station, and yet it wasn’t quite house or hotel, either, but something in between that had evolved as some architectural need arose and was subsequently met. It had seen some rough treatment during the war; there were numerous bullet holes in the wood on one side of the building, as if it had stood in the way of a heavy onslaught of musket fire.

He looked up at the increasingly overcast sky. He expected it to rain before sundown.

Weather prognostication
.

He wondered at what point he’d learned to do that—read the sky and air around him and presume to know what the weather would be. He didn’t remember having acquired the ability at all, but it had to have been before Gettysburg—he’d been in no shape to learn anything after that. It must have come from being—living—fighting—outdoors for so many months. It occurred to him that he might have come away from the war with a useful skill besides the killing of his fellow man—if he had decided to become a farmer.

His thoughts went to Harrison Howe. He’d hired the stationmaster’s wife to keep watch over him while he came down to meet the train. He both dreaded Kate’s arrival and longed for it. By the time she got here, she would have been on the train all night and most of the day. She would be upset and exhausted, and what could he tell her except the truth?

He had managed to locate a country doctor and bring him here to see the boy, but the man had offered no diagnosis beyond the obvious, a fever likely brought on by the beating he’d taken at the hands of a person or persons unknown. Whether it had happened at school and that was the reason the boy had run away, or whether it was the result of a robbery attempt when he’d gotten off the train, Robert didn’t know. All he knew was that he could have come to the doctor’s conclusion about the boy’s condition all on his own. And he didn’t need anyone to tell him that young Harrison Howe was not likely to survive. Robert had done the only thing he could. He had sent for Kate.

He looked around sharply at the sound of a train whistle in the distance. The waiting area of the train station began to empty out as more and more people began to crowd onto the platform. He stood back to let them pass, and as he did so, he felt the first drops of rain begin to fall. Clearly his weather prediction had been off by a few hours.

From his vantage point he could see all of the passenger cars, but it was some time before he finally saw Castine helping Mrs. Kinnard down the train car steps to the platform.

Mrs. Kinnard.

He couldn’t begin to guess how that had come about, and he braced himself to have to deal with her unexpected presence. She spotted him immediately and came marching across the platform in his direction. He still didn’t see Kate.

“Robert Markham,” Mrs. Kinnard said as soon as she was close enough. “What is happening with this boy everyone is so concerned about?”

“Where is Kate?” he asked, sidestepping her question. Surely she hadn’t sent Acacia Kinnard in her stead.

“She is giving away most of the contents of our food basket to a woman with three hungry children,” Mrs. Kinnard said. “As she should. Now, about—”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Kinnard,” he said, pushing his way through the crowd again to get closer to the train, because he could see someone he thought must be Kate making her way down the aisle toward the train car exit.

He stood waiting on the platform, watching her progress all the way until she finally appeared. She was so...beautiful to him and had been since the first time he saw her in the downstairs hallway of his father’s house
.

Maria was right. He did want Kate to be a preacher’s wife—
his
wife—and he didn’t see how their situation could be any more impossible.

Perkins had been right as well—as far as it went. Robert was not bound to Eleanor, and yet he was, and he would continue to be until he saw her, talked with her, understood what had happened between them and knew she was all right. In the meantime, he could do nothing, say nothing to Kate about the way he felt.

I love her, Lord.

He didn’t know when it had happened, or how. All he knew was that it was so, that she was in his mind night and day—and now he was only moments away from breaking her heart.

“Robert!” she cried in obvious relief when she saw him. “How is he? Tell me!”

He helped her down before he answered. “He knows you’re coming,” he said. “But he’s sleeping most of the time now.”

She looked at him.

“Sleeping,” she repeated as if she thought that he didn’t mean “sleeping” at all, that he meant something much more ominous.

“This way,” Robert said. “Let’s get you and Mrs. Kinnard out of the rain.”

“Robert—”

“You need to see him for yourself, Kate.”

“He’s here, then?”

“Yes. Mrs. Kinnard!” he called. “This way!”

Mrs. Kinnard came in her own good time, unmindful of the rain. “What kind of place
is
this?” she asked when she reached them. “I see no one about to offer a traveler any assistance whatsoever. You have lightened the basket, I take it, Miss Woodard?”

“Yes,” Kate said. “Where is he, Robert?”

“That way. Go through those double doors,” he said, pointing out the station entrance.

They crossed the wide porch, stepping around sleeping men who sprawled everywhere—salesmen, by the looks of them, “drummers” who preyed upon the unsuspecting traveling public with their “snake oil” cure-alls, as well as the ones who sold legitimate merchandise to the small town and the middle-of-nowhere general stores. Mrs. Kinnard went inside first. It was as chaotic around the ticket window as it was on the platform.