Cheryl Reavis (18 page)

“Max never mentioned anything like that to— Oh. I just realized. One of Max’s officers cornered me in the downstairs hallway. He’d been drinking. He kept insisting that he would come here to visit me while Max was away. He was sure I needed the company of ‘my own kind.’ I couldn’t get away from him, and Robert intervened. I’m afraid I let the man think that I might mention his behavior to Max. I suppose he wanted to give Max his version of what happened before I did. This is so aggravating,” Kate added.

“What is?”

“My brother—and yours. I don’t like being in the middle of some...incident, and not know anything about it. And I’m sure Robert didn’t like being put in the wrong for something he didn’t do. They didn’t come to blows or anything, did they?”

“No. Or if they did, Max didn’t tell me.”

“Didn’t Robert say anything to you about it?”

“No, nothing. According to Max, Robert said that your friendship was very important to him and he had the utmost respect for you and would never do anything to jeopardize it—and Max was satisfied.”

Very important? Utmost respect?

Kate had no idea what either of those terms actually meant.

“Kate,” Maria said, and she looked at her sister-in-law. “I think I should tell you what I think about this...friendship.”

“All right,” Kate said.

But Maria hesitated. Warrie had stopped singing, and neither Private Castine nor Sergeant Major Perkins seemed to be wandering about on the ground floor. The house was quiet for a change. Too quiet.

“Maria, what is it?”

“I know my brother very well. I think I even understand why he didn’t come home until now. But he’s—” Maria stopped and began gathering up her knitting and putting it carefully into her yarn basket. “I’ve already been an overzealous busybody once today. It’s not very becoming.”

“For heaven’s sake, tell me!”

“All right, I will. Kate, what is ‘friendship’ to one person may not be friendship to another.”

“What do you mean? I have no designs on Robert.” Because Robert is
safe,
she nearly said—safe for her to have as a friend, just as she was safe for him—because of Eleanor Hansen.

“I don’t mean you. I mean him. I think he has deeper feelings than even he realizes. For you,” she added.

“He loves Eleanor,” Kate said quietly.

“Yes. But that has nothing to do with this.”

Kate opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again.

“I just don’t want either of you to be hurt,” Maria said. “Men can be so unobservant sometimes. I think you will see where the situation is heading before he will. If you’re privy to what I already suspect and it turns out that I’m right, then you’ll be...prepared to handle it. As you said, it’s aggravating being in the middle of a situation you know nothing about.”

Maria stood.

“I truly am glad of your friendship with Robert, Kate, whatever ‘friendship’ turns out to be. Think about what I’ve said. Good night. Pleasant dreams.”

Think about it?
How could she
not
think about it?

Kate stayed in the sitting room, her mind darting from Robert to Harrison and back again, until she couldn’t sit still any longer. She got up from the chair and walked to the window. The summer kitchen windows were dark. Either Robert was not there or he was already asleep.

Very important.

Utmost respect.

Friendship.

Friendship was all that she’d wanted.

But even as that thought formed, she knew it wasn’t true. Friendship was the only thing she could allow.

She sighed and went downstairs. Perkins had moved Max’s campaign table from the sitting room to a corner of the foyer the day Max departed for New Bern. It was where Perkins left the private mail pouch when there was one. Kate glanced in that direction out of habit, expecting nothing to be there this late in the day, and she was not disappointed. The conversation with Maria had left her too agitated to even think of sleeping, so she wandered toward the kitchen. Mrs. Justice was sitting at the worktable, apparently just returned from her visit, because her bonnet was hanging by its ribbons on the back of one chair and her cloak was draped over another.

“Would you like some tea, my dear,” Mrs. Justice asked kindly—a little too kindly, Kate thought.

“Yes, please,” she said. She sat down in the only remaining chair and rested her elbows on the table, something her mother would have taken great exception to if she’d seen her.

There was already an extra cup and saucer on the table—which made Kate even more suspicious that offering her tea hadn’t been accidental. She gave a heavy sigh as Mrs. Justice poured some and handed the cup and saucer to her.

“You mustn’t be upset, my dear,” Mrs. Justice said. “The effort he’s been making—the grooming—is a compliment, really. It shows he has confidence in your potential.”

Kate looked at her. “What grooming?”

“Oh,” Mrs. Justice said, somewhat taken aback. “The...um...grooming Maria mentioned?” She looked so hopeful that no further questions would be forthcoming that Kate was almost tempted to let the matter drop.

Almost.

“Maria didn’t say anything about grooming. Have I not been presentable enough for Mrs. Kinnard? Surely that’s not what she wanted to see you about. I have all my dresses now—in fact I was thinking of having Mrs. Russell’s sister make me one or two more.”

“No, no, not your dresses. It’s—Robbie.”

“You mean the...friendship?” Kate asked, making a wild guess even though she couldn’t see any kind of connection at all between “grooming” and “friendship.”

“I wasn’t talking about a friendship, my dear. I don’t know anything about that. I only know that Maria and I agree—about the grooming.”

“I must ask you again, Mrs. Justice. What grooming?”

“The grooming Robbie is doing—and having me do. The grooming to make you a suitable preacher’s wife.”

Kate stared at her. “You—and Robert Markham—are grooming me to be a preacher’s wife,” she stated carefully to make sure she’d heard right. She tried—and failed—to keep the incredulity out of her voice.

“Yes,” Mrs. Justice said happily. “And you’re making wonderful progress.”

“And who is this preacher I’m being groomed for?” Kate asked.

“Why, Robbie, of course.”

“He’s looking for a
wife?
”

“Oh, he says not—according to Maria.”

“Well, he should know.”

Mrs. Justice leaned toward her as if she didn’t want anyone to overhear. “We think he hasn’t realized it yet.”

“Has everybody forgotten he’s going to marry Eleanor Hansen?”

“Oh, no. We haven’t forgotten. We’ve decided that isn’t going to work out.”

“I see,” Kate said. “Well—” She took a sip of her tea. “This has certainly been an evening for interesting...conversations.”

Chapter Twelve

K
ate came downstairs early to see if there would be a mail pouch on the campaign table after all. The table was bare, except for the small polished brass oil lamp Sergeant Major Perkins had added since the last time she’d looked. It, like the table, seemed lost in the all but empty foyer.

She stood for a moment, making a concerted effort to shore up the courage to face another anxious day. She tried not to worry, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Were other mothers—real mothers—able to let go of the apprehension they felt regarding their children’s happiness and safety, or was she merely too excitable because she had always been on the fringes of Harrison’s life?

She suddenly remembered Mrs. Justice’s prayer.

Thy will
.

“Thy will,” she whispered. “Not mine.” And she turned around just in time to see Robert disappearing into the kitchen—backtracking, unless she was very mistaken.

Is he avoiding me?

She had been avoiding him, of course, since all that talk of “grooming” with Mrs. Justice, but it hadn’t occurred to her until this moment that he might be doing the same. She waited, trying to determine which way he was going to go, then she hurried out the front door and around the house to the back. When Robert came outside, she was standing on the slate path, planted firmly between him and the summer kitchen.

“Good morning,” she said pointedly.

“Good morning,” he replied—once he got over his astonishment at finding her there when she’d only just been in the foyer. He seemed not to want to look at her at first, and then he seemed not to want to stop.

She looked back.

“Mrs. Justice said you were grooming me to be a preacher’s wife,” she said bluntly, and then she waited.

And waited.

He stood there, not exactly surprised by her comment, she thought, but not exactly...
not
surprised, either.

“Did she?” he said finally.

“No,” Kate said. “She
said
you were grooming me to be
your
wife.”

He took a quiet breath and then another one. Then, after much too long an interval, he nodded. “Good,” he said. And he stepped around her and walked away.

Good?

She pursed her lips to say something, but there was no longer anyone around to talk to. He had disappeared into the summer kitchen and closed the door. She wasn’t about to follow him, though it was clear that she would have to if she wanted him to elaborate. Follow him. And corner him.

She looked around at the arrival of a horse and rider—a soldier bringing the mail pouch. She went back inside, hurrying through the kitchen and into the hallway. The soldier was already leaving as she reached the foyer; the private mail pouch lay on the campaign table.

Kate opened the pouch, knowing she was usurping Maria’s authority. This was her household and it was her duty to see to the mail. Even so, she dumped everything out, searching through a number of envelopes for a letter with a Philadelphia return address. There was none. She gave a sharp sigh of disappointment, then picked up one of the other pieces, a telegram. Her name was on it.

Her pulse pounded in her ears as she tore the envelope open. It was from John.

She read the message quickly, and then again:

H gone when we arrived. Looking for him here. Advise Max he may come south.

John

“Gone?” Kate said aloud. She read the telegram again, more slowly this time. “Who is ‘we’?”

Not Mrs. Howe. She had been ill. Her illness was the reason he’d stayed in Philadelphia. It must be Amanda, his wife, she decided. He wouldn’t take his mother with him to the school if he could help it, even if she were well now—unless she’d read Kate’s letter and insisted. Mrs. Howe was very good at that—insisting.

She abruptly crumpled the telegram in both hands and stood there, eyes closed, trying not to cry. She had believed all along that something was wrong, and what a bitter thing it was to be proved right.

“Did you say something, Miss Kate?” Perkins said behind her.

“No. Nothing,” she said in a rush, turning away so he couldn’t see her face. She walked quickly down the hallway toward the back of the house, leaving the sergeant major to think whatever he liked.

Her abrupt entry into the kitchen startled one of the soldier-cooks who hadn’t been there on her first pass through, but she made no apology. She was all but running now, and she didn’t stop until she was a short distance from the summer kitchen.

I can’t do this. I can’t go running to Robert.

But even as the thought came into her mind, she knew she was going to do just that.

* * *

Robert caught a glimpse of Kate as she rushed headlong from the house. He immediately opened the door for her, but she had stopped dead.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed by the distress he could see on her face. “Kate?”

She came closer but she didn’t say anything. She handed him a crumpled telegram. He had to smooth it out to read it.

“Did you tell Perkins about this?” he asked, looking up at her. It was likely that Perkins would read all the incoming telegrams, but if he hadn’t, Robert understood enough about the way the occupation worked to know that the sergeant major would need to be informed immediately.

She shook her head.

“Then that’s the first thing you have to do—”

“No,” she said.

“He already suspects something. Look,” Robert said, nodding toward the house. Perkins was standing at the back door. “He’s guessed something is wrong. Harrison’s brother wanted Max notified, and he’s not here. Perkins will have to handle it. Better him than any of the officers I’ve seen.”

Kate looked toward the house again. Sergeant Major Perkins was on the verge of coming down the slate path. “Yes, all right,” she said, trying to force herself to think clearly. Of course Perkins would have to be involved; nobody knew that better than she did.

“Mrs. Howe lives in Philadelphia,” Kate said.

“Mrs. Howe?”

“Harrison’s mother. If he’s run away, I don’t think he’ll go there. She’s a very...exacting woman. He’ll think he’s let her down and he’d be too ashamed. I think he’s more likely to come here. To Max.”

“And you,” Robert said. “Perkins is coming, Give him the telegram.” He handed it back to her.

“He may have already read it.”

“Even if he has, that’s not the face of a man who understands the situation he’s found himself in.”

“His sack and burn face,” Kate said quietly. She took a deep breath and waited for the inevitable.

“Miss Kate,” Perkins said as soon as he was close enough. “You know what I told you the night
he
showed up.” He nodded in Robert’s direction. “My duty is to the Colonel. I need to know what’s going on. Now, if you please.”

Kate hesitated, then handed him the telegram.

He read it quickly and looked up at her. “Is that Captain Howe’s little brother he’s talking about?”

“Yes,” Kate said, not at all surprised that he had already discerned who “H” might be.

“The telegram doesn’t say much. I reckon he’s run off from wherever he was.”

“Boarding school,” Kate said. “He wasn’t happy there.”

“Well, if he’s coming in this direction, how far he gets will depend on how much money he’s got and more on whether or not he can hang on to it. There will be all kinds of riffraff wanting to relieve him of whatever he’s carrying. If he runs out, he’ll be stuck wherever the train stopped. Best thing is to backtrack from here—check with the conductors and with the people who make a living hanging around the whistle-stops.” He looked at Robert. “Soldiers looking for him aren’t going to find out much from the locals.”

“I’ll go,” Robert said.

“I’m going with you,” Kate said.

“No,” both men said in unison.

“You’ll slow me down, Kate,” Robert said, looking into her eyes. “The places I may need to go, I can’t take you. It would be better if you stayed here with Maria. There’s no point in having her worry about both of us. If he’s stuck somewhere along the line, I can find him, and as soon as I do, I’ll get word to the sergeant major. Can you send somebody to find the chaplain?” he said to Perkins.

“What, again?”

“If he’s sober enough, he can help.”

It was clear to Kate that Perkins didn’t see how, but he apparently decided to trust Robert’s judgment in the matter.

“Castine!” Perkins suddenly yelled over his shoulder, and the well-trained young soldier burst from the back door of the house as if he’d been alert and waiting for just such a summons.

“I need the chaplain here
now,
” Perkins told him. “Take two soldiers with you in case he can’t walk.”

“Yes, Sergeant Major!” Castine said and hurried away.

“Can you get me some paper, Kate?” Robert said. “Drawing paper if you have any or some sheets of stationery. And pencils, or a pen and ink. Or charcoal sticks—and bring Harrison’s photograph. The chaplain is an excellent artist—Reverend Lewis showed me some of his work. Maybe he can do some sketches of the photograph, and Perkins can make sure the soldiers who patrol the wagon roads see them.”

Kate looked at him doubtfully. Man of the cloth or not, she’d never gotten the impression that the chaplain was an obliging man, drunk or sober.

“I may need to give him with some of Max’s whiskey or brandy. I need you to bring the best he’s got out here.”

Kate’s mind was reeling. She felt better that both Robert and Sergeant Major Perkins were so willing to help, but at the same time, it only made the situation seem all too real. And dire.

“Now, Kate,” Robert said, putting his hand briefly on her shoulder.

“Yes, all right,” she said, and she hurried back to the house. She had drawing paper. There were a number of sheets she’d never used in the writing box Grey had given her. She had to dodge Maria and Mrs. Justice to get upstairs without having to give some kind of explanation for dashing around the house and yard, and once there, she found everything Robert had said he wanted, including a bottle of Max’s best cognac. She had no faith whatsoever that the chaplain wouldn’t need it, regardless of the state Castine found him in.

When she returned to the summer kitchen, both Robert and Perkins had gone. She waited by the door for a moment, then went inside. She put everything she was carrying on the table and sat down by the fire. She realized that she didn’t have the telegram; Perkins must still have it. She supposed that he would be sending the precise wording of the telegram to Max. In fact, that may be where he was now. She couldn’t begin to guess where Robert might be.

She looked around the large kitchen. She couldn’t tell where Robert slept—a bedroll on the floor perhaps, one that was kept out of sight during the day in case someone who needed to talk to him arrived. There were a few personal touches—books on the mantel, to be precise. The cookstove sat on the stone floor next to the hearth, sharing the chimney via a secondary flue constructed just for that purpose. She hadn’t learned to build a fire in a cookstove yet, and looking at it now, the assorted doors and dampers were nothing if not intimidating.

Groomed.

She had never felt less groomed in her life.

The door rattled; Robert had returned, just ahead of Castine and the chaplain, who didn’t seem to need any help. Kate supposed that was a good sign—until she saw him. The chaplain was sober, but he was unsteady on his feet. He sat down immediately in a chair at the table. Kate couldn’t smell any whiskey on him, but she saw him look at the bottle of cognac. He glanced at her and then at the bottle again. He was about to be bribed, and he knew it, but he made no mention of that or of the bottle of spirits.

“Am I to know why I’ve been hurried here?” he asked. “Private Castine was less than forthcoming with his explanations...” He glanced in Kate’s direction. “Other than his supposition that Colonel Woodard’s sister urgently required my presence.”

“We do need your help, Chaplain,” Robert said, his voice respectful. “Kate, do you have the photograph?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion when she didn’t expect it to. She knew her distress was very close to the surface, but she had thought she had it under better control. She took a deep breath and handed the photograph to him.

“It’s very important that we find this boy,” Robert said. “It would help us if you would make several sketches of him. Reverend Lewis showed me some of your very fine work,” he added, causing the chaplain to look at him in surprise.

“A long time ago, I’m afraid,” the chaplain said, but he took the photograph, then held it up and looked at it, squinting as he did so. “My eyes—” he began, but his voice was hoarse sounding now. He cleared his throat. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be—I need more light.”

Robert and Castine slid the table into a patch of sunlight close to the window. The chaplain picked up his chair and placed it in the location he considered the best for what he needed and sat down again. Once again he looked at the photograph, but not without looking at the bottle of cognac first. He licked his lips and took a deep breath.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “You’ll only need sketches of the face, and I can do that well enough to give at least some idea of what this young man looks like.”

Kate reached for the paper and pencils she’d brought and placed them in front of him.

“No,” he said, holding up his hand when she was about to give him the pen and ink, as well. “Is that charcoal? Charcoal will do nicely.”

She handed the charcoal sticks to him, and she watched him closely, moving out of his line of sight so as not to distract him. But he seemed a different man now and completely oblivious to her or anything else around him. He concentrated on the photograph of Harrison and began to work, sketching and smudging as he went. It took him no time at all to make several nearly identical drawings of Harrison’s face. Kate stared at them. He had caught the boy’s wistful sadness with such accuracy that it was all she could do not to weep.

The chaplain rose from his chair. “I take it I’m free to go now?” he said. He glanced at Castine, who did his best—and rightfully so—to look as if none of this had anything whatsoever to do with him.