Cheryl Reavis (8 page)

Elizabeth Channing actually blushed. And whatever was causing Thomas’s lack of correspondence, clearly his mother considered it none of this young woman’s business.

“Oh…dear me. Yes, of course, that must be it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it, should I?” Elizabeth Channing said.

“I’m very surprised to find you here,” Mrs. Harrigan continued, her voice quiet, but firm enough to unsettle what Abiah was beginning to suspect was the household’s
other
uninvited guest Perhaps the doctor had indeed told Elizabeth Channing no.

“Oh, I’m not visiting, I’m only making a delivery.” Elizabeth smiled sweetly and swept herself and her big skirts toward the basket. “Abiah, I’ve brought you a few things—to enliven your long days, I hope. It must be so lonely here without Thomas. Will he come home to see you, do you think?”

“I’m sure he will,” Mrs. Harrigan said for Abiah. “After all, he has good reason to get here as soon as he can.”

Elizabeth Channing’s smile faded. She handed
Abiah the basket. There was a nosegay of herbs and dried baby’s breath, a tin of cocoa and a jar of what Abiah took to be blackberry jam—and an actual copy of
The Woman In White.

“Thank you for all of this,” Abiah said genuinely. “I’ve heard about the book. I understand people in London even miss their theater engagements because they can’t put it down.”

“Oh, it’s all the rage. One of the judge’s friends—a British sea captain, actually—brought a number of copies the last time he made the crossing. He’s often here for the salons. Anyway, perhaps it will help you pass the time.”

“I’m sure it will. You’re very kind.”

“Well, we must do our best to take good care of you and keep you safe—just as Thomas meant you to be. We don’t want his sacrifice to have been for naught. We can do no less than follow his selfless example.” She paused, and Abiah understood the innuendo perfectly. Somehow Elizabeth Channing had heard the circumstances of the marriage, and Thomas Harrigan’s friends would consider his wife a pitiful charity case—just as he himself obviously did.

“And please, Abiah, do let me know if there is anything—anything at all—I can do for you in the—”

“Abiah is very tired,” Mrs Harrigan interrupted. “I’ll walk downstairs with you, Elizabeth.”

Given no option but to leave, Elizabeth nevertheless tarried long enough to put her cloak on. Abiah leaned against the back of the fainting couch, and she couldn’t help but watch—as she was meant to do. It
was clear to her that Elizabeth Channing appreciated her own beauty only when it was reflected in the envy of others. And Abiah was admittedly envious. She couldn’t begin to understand the kind of life Miss Channing must lead. Or Thomas, either, for that matter.

I have to get away from here,
she thought—before she lost her own good sense and became the jealous creature she very much suspected the lovely Miss Channing intended her to be. She managed one last smile as Mrs. Harrigan hurried Elizabeth out the door, but the token smile quickly faded. How could Elizabeth Channing know that Thomas had been sick? Mrs. Harrigan had said many times that she hadn’t received any word from him—so to which of them had she been lying?

No. It wasn’t quite a lie. Clarissa had merely suggested a reason for Abiah’s not having been told anything. She’d never said
she
had been notified of his illness.

Abiah closed her eyes for a moment. Trying to find her way through all this intrigue was exhausting. First the judge, now Elizabeth Channing. She wondered if it was like this all the time here. If so, no wonder Thomas had preferred the Calder house.

She was still holding the basket. She removed the book and set the basket on the floor.
The Woman In White.
It was an exceptional gift, regardless of the innuendos she’d had to endure to get it. She opened the cover and read the pronouncement in the first line—this was supposed to be the story of what a woman’s
patience could endure. Surely Abiah could find inspiration in that. She began to turn the pages, continuing to spot read here and there.

The sheets of paper were in the middle of the book. A letter, without the envelope. Abiah had no intention of reading it—at first—but one phrase caught her eye: “…the cough is much better…”

She hesitated, then picked up the pages and began to read. She didn’t recognize the handwriting—but then why would she? She didn’t recognize it, yet she was already afraid of what this must be.

…You have asked me again about my health. Please let’s not dwell on that. Ask me instead how much I love you, and tell me that you love me, too. Tell me what it will be like when we are finally married. That is what I truly long to hear.

But since you have asked, suffice it to say that the cough is much better, my improvement, no doubt, coming about because of your faithfulness. Your writing to me means more than I can ever say. My sergeant tells me a letter from my “sweetheart” is the best of medicines.

It is so desolate here. I am so weary of the company of men. I long to be with you, my Elizabeth. I want to see you, even if it has to be from across the room. You are the one thing in my life that has given me joy. I wish I could offer you some words of comfort, but I have no idea how long it will take before I am finally free of my obligation. Yes, you are right in saying I am imprisoned
by my duty. I am fully aware that it was done entirely by my own hand. Don’t believe the things you hear at the Winthrop house. I promise you, I will be free again. I will be free, and wherever you are, I will come to you.

Thomas

Abiah put the pages back into the book carefully and with some difficulty. Her hands were trembling. She sat there, staring at nothing. She needed to sort out what all this meant, but her mind simply would not cooperate. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. The book slid from her hands and landed with a thud on the bare wood floor.

N
ot again,
Abiah kept thinking.
Please.

But she had been through this enough times to recognize what was happening to her. She had a fever again. Her head pounded with it. She couldn’t concentrate. Strange, disjointed thoughts came from nowhere and stayed.

The truth shall set you free.

No—the truth shall set Thomas free. The truth…It’s not as if you didn’t know the way of things, my dear Abiah. He thought you were dying—and you didn’t cooperate.

“Abiah, listen to me,” Dr. Nethen insisted.

No, thank you,
she thought, perhaps said. She didn’t want to listen. She never listened. She had made it her life’s calling
not
to listen. All these days since the wedding she’d passed the time daring to imagine what a life with Thomas might be like. And now she knew. It was one thing to fear that he would one day despise her because of the circumstances of their marriage, and
quite another to know that by surviving, she had kept him from Elizabeth Channing.

She made an anguished sound as she tried not to remember the things he had written in his letter.

“What happened after I left?” the doctor said. “She hasn’t had another set-to with the judge, has she?”

“No, sir,” a different voice said.

Bonnie. Bonnie had come to put her back to bed.

“Judge Winthrop’s in Washington until Saturday, sir.”

“Has anyone been feeding her the wrong things?”

“No, sir! Nothing but what you wrote down for Cook.”

“She hasn’t been overly exerting herself or been upset by anything? She didn’t get bad news about Thomas, did she?”

“No, sir. Everything is just the same as it’s been—except Miss Elizabeth came to call, but she weren’t here long. Mrs. Harrigan seen to that.”

“I see. Where is Mrs. Harrigan?”

“Gone into St. Michaels herself to fetch some things for the dinner party tonight, sir. I don’t know when she will get back here.”

“All right, we’re going to have to—”

There was some commotion and the door to the hallway suddenly opened.

“Who the hell are you?” Dr. Nethen demanded.

“Who wants to know?” Gertie asked calmly.

“Gertie?” Abiah said. She tried to sit up and couldn’t. She tried to turn her head to see, but it hurt too much. “Gertie…?”

“It’s me, Miss Abiah,” Gertie said, her voice closer now. “It took me a while, but I got here—what have you people done to her?” A cool hand suddenly touched the side of Abiah’s face. “This is not how she was when she left Falmouth.”

“Young woman, I suggest you take yourself downstairs right now—”

“Look!” Gertie said. “I was hired by Captain Harrigan to take care of Miss Abiah, and I ain’t been told no different. I reckon I’m here to stay. What are you people wasting time for? She needs sponging to get that fever down—anybody can see that. Show me where I can find some water and some cloths—”

“Gertie, don’t go!” Abiah cried in alarm.

“It’s all right, Miss Abiah. You rest easy. I’ll be right back. Well, girl—whoever you are—did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, ma am,” Bonnie answered. “But Dr. Nethen didn’t—”

“Go get what she needs, Bonnie,” Dr. Nethen said. “You say you looked after Abiah in Falmouth?”

“I did. I was with her from the night Captain Harrigan stole her across the Rappahannock—until that lawyer took her off without me. But I’m here now and I intend to stay.”

“You’ve talked to Captain Harrigan?”

“No. He’s in camp and civilians can’t go in there. And him nor none of the rest of the soldiers can come out But I told you. He hired me, and as far as I’m concerned, I’m still hired until I hear different—from
him.
”

“Oh, I have no objections. It’s Abiah here who has the last word.”

Abiah tried to sit up again. “Zachariah Wilson—he didn’t—”

“Now we aren’t going to go worrying about him, Miss Abiah. You hear? That’s all water under the bridge.”

“You’re not to blame—”

“Right you are, Miss Abiah—but we’re
not
talking about it now and I mean it. We’re going to work on getting you feeling better. So, Dr. whatever-yourname-is—”

“Nethen,” the doctor said.

“Dr. Nethen—are you thinking it’s the sickness come back new, or is it just that fever people get sometimes when they’re just about well and they get too big for their britches?”

“Ah, the latter, I believe,” the doctor said. “I believe it’s a recrudescence, not a true relapse.”

“Well, good. Let’s hope you know what you’re talking about. A couple days will tell the tale, I reckon. Do you think I could get something to eat around here? It’s been a while since I had the chance to feed my face, I can tell you.”

“I’ll have Bonnie bring up a tray.”

“You can do that? Just wave your hand and somebody brings a tray?”

“I can,” he assured her. “I can have this room cleared, too, if I think it’s necessary.”

“Well, it ain’t. Miss Abiah is. going to be getting better with me here.”

But “Miss Abiah” didn’t want to get better—and said so.

“Well, I can see right now it’s a good thing I came,” Gertie said. “Feeling sorry for ourselves, are we?” She took the basin of water Bonnie brought in and immediately set to work, ignoring Abiah’s wants about that, too.

“Are you sure you understand what needs to be done?” the doctor asked, and Gertie gave a sharp sigh.

“Her skin is hot. I am going to give it a brisk rub with this wet cloth. Then I’m going to wait. The skin’ll feel cool after a bit and then it’ll get hot again. When it does, I’m going to start all over. Unless you got a better plan, Dr. Nethen.”

“No, I believe that will work nicely. I’ll leave you to it, then. If you need me, tell Bonnie here. She knows how to find me.”

“Now what is the matter with you?” Gertie said as soon as everyone had gone. “And I don’t mean the fever.”

“I shouldn’t have gotten married,” Abiah said listlessly. The cool cloth on her face and arms was both a relief and a nuisance.

“Oh, is that all.” Gertie flapped the wet cloth in the air to make it even colder.

“It’s enough.”

“Enough for what? For you to go belly-up and let all my hard work go for nothing? I’m beginning to know how Pete felt. He said your Thomas was about the worst excuse for an officer he ever seen—at first. Pete said it was hard work bringing him along, but it
was worth it, and he wasn’t about to let anything happen to him if he could help it. I reckon that’s about the way I feel about you. I owe you, Miss Abiah. Ain’t nobody ever done for me what you did, and I ain’t letting anything happen to you. You understand me?”

“No,” Abiah said stubbornly.

“Shame on you, Miss Abiah. Tell a
lie…
”

Gertie sounded so aggrieved that Abiah couldn’t help but smile.

“There now,” Gertie said. “You see? It ain’t all that bad if you can laugh about it. Now what did our darling Captain Harrigan do?”

“Nothing.”

“Then what did he
not
do?”

“Gertie, I don’t want to talk about this—”

“Well, that’s too bad. How am I going to know what needs doing if I ain’t got the particulars?”

“There’s nothing to be done.”

“That ain’t so. There’s always
something
to be done. Like right now. We’re going to get you better—get you up and about. Your mind gets to telling you all kinds of silly things when your body can’t go no place.”

Gertie didn’t say anything else, and neither did Abiah. She gave herself up to Gertie’s ablutions instead. She was far too unhappy to do anything else.

“She’s so beautiful,” Abiah murmured after a time.

“Who?”

“Elizabeth Channing.”

“Is she the reason you’re acting like this?”

“She’s beautiful,” Abiah insisted.

“So what? I’m beautiful, too,” Gertie said. “So are you. But I don’t see nobody up and leaving this world on account of it. And just because this Elizabeth Channing’s beautiful self wants Thomas ain’t no reason for you to let her have him.”

“It’s not what
she
wants. It’s what Thomas wants—if that happened to be the problem—which it is not.”

“Well, for the sake of curiosity, how do you know what Thomas wants?”

“I read it in his letter—to her.”

“How in the world did you get a hold of that, you being the shut-in invalid and everything?”

“I found it in my book.”

“Uh-huh. Ain’t that kind of a strange place for him to keep letters to another woman? In
your
book?”

“Elizabeth Channing gave the book to me.
The Woman In White.
It’s all the rage in London.”

“Uh-
huh.
And this book that’s all the rage just happened to have the captain’s letter in it. And you just happened to find it. Then you read this letter, I guess, and now you just happen to be all undone about it and giving yourself a fever. You been bushwhacked, Miss Abiah. That Channing girl is good, I’ll give her that. Or bad, depending on how you look at it. And you—you need a hickory stick taken to your backside if you let her get away with it. Just look at you. It’s bad enough you’ve made yourself sick. Now you’re wanting to cry about it, too. I don’t know why I’m even bothering—”

“Gertie, I don’t know what to do!”

“What you
do
is get better. Fast. You get yourself
up out of that bed and you start taking some pride in who you are. Thomas married you, didn’t he? Can’t nobody deny you was in need of marrying, but you didn’t exactly make it easy for him. He didn’t give up on the notion just because you told him no, did he? You gave him the chance to get out of it. I reckon he knew what he wanted, and if he’s a little confused about it now, well, you just have to get him straightened out, that’s all. It’s up to you to show everybody around here
he’s
the one that ought to be thanking his lucky stars he’s got you—not the other way around. How’s he going to know you’re worth having if you don’t act like it?”

“What if I do that and he still doesn’t know it?”

“Well, then, I’ll find you another revolver and you can shoot him in the earlobe like you did Zachariah Wilson.”

This time Abiah laughed out loud, in spite of her misery. She was so glad, suddenly, that Gertie was here.

“Lord almighty, what is
that?”
Gertie asked of the singing that suddenly started up in the music room downstairs.

“That’s the soprano warming up for the party this evening.”

“Lord almighty,” Gertie said again. “You reckon she sounds like that on purpose?”

Abiah’s letters abruptly stopped coming. Thomas didn’t worry at first, because the mail was unpredictable. He kept dismissing the delay as yet another wartime
inefficiency, because the expected weekly letter from his mother hadn’t arrived, either. But he was convinced now that something was wrong, something he perhaps should have seen coming.

He took great pains to reread everything Abiah had written to him, looking for some indication of…something. He didn’t quite know what. A worsening of her condition, he supposed. There had been a slight shakiness in her handwriting in the beginning, but that had completely disappeared. She had been perfectly coherent at all times. In fact, her letters were wonderful. In each one she took him back to a place and a time they both missed and cherished. And in each one she made him recognize something he hadn’t really noticed before.

Abiah Calder.

No. He must have noticed in order to remember the details about her so acutely now. He definitely remembered the waltz. He remembered dancing her around and around the candlelit parlor. All of the furniture had been pushed back to make room, and he’d kept staring at her soft, slightly parted lips and wondering whether or not she had ever been kissed.

Thomas smiled slightly to himself.
He
had been wondering about kissing, while
she
—Lord knows what she had been wondering. And the possibilities had taken over his daytime and his nighttime fantasies. He couldn’t think about anything but her. La Broie had caught him more than once supposedly “woolgathering,” and neither he nor anyone else in the company
believed for a moment that Captain Harrigan’s mind had been on anything even remotely military.

But
something
was wrong and perhaps had been wrong the whole time. For one thing, Abiah never mentioned anything in her letters that he had written to her previously. All his questions were blatantly ignored. At first he put it down to some peculiarity of her illness. He had thought that perhaps she didn’t want to address his ramblings about the painful and unsettled present. Perhaps she only wanted the quietude of the past.

His mother had reported in the last letter he’d received from her that Abiah was definitely progressing—that she was able to be out of bed for longer and longer every day, that she was following the doctor’s orders carefully. The judge, on the other hand, was “himself,” she wrote. Unfortunately, Thomas knew exactly what that meant.

But he couldn’t get home to see about any of it. There had been yet another change in command, and with it, all the resultant “new” ways of doing things. Joseph Hooker had managed to get control of the Army of the Potomac, after all. Thus far, Thomas was guardedly hopeful. If nothing else, Fighting Joe had gotten the stockpile of provisions out of the commissaries and into the ranks. The sutlers were back, and he’d even lifted the ban on civilian “laundresses.” And unless Thomas was seriously mistaken, the current quota underfoot far exceeded the regulation four.

A soldier could now get a halfway decent meal, a drink of whiskey or a warm body most anytime he
wanted it. What he couldn’t get was a furlough, especially if he happened to be a recalcitrant Massachusetts captain of infantry who was already on the wrong side of the powers that be. Thomas tried to keep his mind on the job at hand. There was a lot to be done. Warm weather was coming and Hooker clearly had his eyes on Richmond. Once again, Thomas didn’t have much time left to see Abiah before he went marching off to war, and once again his commanding officers were completely unsympathetic.

“Maybe you could ask your grandfather to pull some strings for you, Cap,” La Broie suggested one afternoon when Thomas was feeling particularly morose.