Kary, Elizabeth (17 page)

"I've
been building the best damned warships this world has ever seen," he
answered without false modesty. "The idea of ironclad ships came out of
the Crimea, back in the fifties, but the ones we've designed and constructed
are unlike anything that's ever been built before. They're fast and
maneuverable. They protect their crews from incoming fire—"

"And
they'll be quite effective at raining destruction on the Confederate batteries
along the riverbank," Leigh observed with resignation in her tone.

Hayes
frowned at her, easily following the trend of her thoughts. She was concerned
for her Confederate, for Lucas Hale, the man whose wife she would one day be.
Unexpected resentment flared in Hayes, and with it a helplessness that only
added fuel to his smoldering emotions. He and Lucas were on opposite sides of
this conflict, and Leigh would forever see Hayes as a threat to the future she
had planned. Both as a Yankee and as a man, he was Lucas Hale's enemy.

The
parlor was filled with silence again, a silence that billowed in the shadows
looming just beyond the candlelight. It was a silence filled with the
differences between them, the conflicts and the loyalties that kept them apart,
as well as the unwelcome emotions that drew them together.

As
they sat without speaking, Hayes studied Leigh across the table, feeling her
disapproval, sensing the fear she must feel for the man she loved. Because
Lucas Hale was fighting for the Confederacy, it was likely Leigh had no idea
where he was or even if he was well and safe. How could she help but see the
ships he built for the Union and the passion that had flared between them this
afternoon as threats to all she held dear? But even though Hayes understood, it
did not make her censure any easier to bear.

Unable
to watch the accusation in her face, his gaze dropped to the hand that rested
against the tablecloth. Curled in upon itself, it was tapered and
long-fingered, the shape graceful and refined. But it was a broad and capable
hand as well, hinting at a physical strength and stamina that he would not have
expected in a woman born to a life of ease. The nails were trimmed close and
the skin was red and chapped from the days she had spent in the service of
others. It was a hand that could gesture eloquently as she spoke, and could no
doubt sew the finest seams, but he also knew it was a hand that had offered
comfort to the wounded and ease to the dying. Without volition, his own hand
crept across the expanse of linen to claim hers, feeling the coolness of her
fingertips against his palm, the rasping roughness of her skin against his. His
thumb traced the gentle curve of her fingers from the sensitive tips upward
toward the reddened knuckles, until it encountered the heavy ruby ring she wore
on the third finger of her left hand. He had never noticed the ring before,
never seen the bloodred stone set in an intricate gold filigree, but he
immediately recognized its significance and loosened his hold on her.

His
own hand contracted sharply, balling into a fist. "Why don't you tell me
about Lucas Hale?" he suggested.

Leigh
took a long breath as she studied him, understanding exactly what he wanted to
know. "Lucas and I have known each other all our lives," she began
softly. "Our families have lived next door for as long as I can remember.
We grew up together, went to school together, got in scrapes together. Lucas,
his brother Brandon, and I shared all our spotty childhood diseases, our
birthdays, our haunts, our toys, our adventures. Lucas fought my battles for me
when he could, dried my tears when I cried, carried me home when I broke my
ankle jumping off the carriage-house roof the summer I was eight. He has always
been there when I needed him: to get my cat out of the tree when I was too
little to climb it, to kill the spiders in the attic when we went up there to
play, to teach me to waltz when my mother said I was too young to learn. He's a
special kind of man: honorable, gallant, brave, and good. He's all that's
familiar, all that's safe and secure." She paused for a moment, then continued
with marked deliberation. "Lucas is a very precious part of my life, just
as I am of his. We were meant to be together always, and when the war is over,
we shall be."

It
was a statement that brooked no argument, yet there was a long silence as Hayes
pondered her meaning. "You've made no mention of love," he pointed
out quietly.

Leigh
drew herself up taller in her chair. "Of course I love Lucas!" she
declared. "I've loved him all my life!"

Hayes's
thumb stroked the bowl of his pipe, and he considered the curve of its stem as
if it held some compelling mystery. "Have you, Leigh?" he finally
asked without even glancing at her. "Do you love Lucas as you did as a
child, or have you come to love him as a woman?" He well knew the weight
and cruelty of his words, but he could no more have stopped the question than
he could have turned away without hearing her reply.

"I
love him as a wife must love her husband, with tenderness and confidence and
trust."

His
gaze rose to her face. "There's more to a marriage than tenderness and
trust." His unspoken challenge lay between them, like a serpent ready to
strike. Their eyes clashed across the table, testing, measuring, daring, until
he was forced to give it voice. "Do you love him with passion, Leigh, with
a passion that ignites your soul?"

Leigh
inhaled slowly and raised her head. "And why must a woman love her husband
that way? She will still bear him children, still be able to satisfy his needs.
There are more important things a wife must feel for her husband: trust,
obedience, and respect. I love Lucas in that way, and together we will make a
strong and enduring marriage."

"A
strong and enduring marriage," he goaded her almost without meaning to.
"Is that what you really want?"

"Of
course it is. Yes." There was a quiver of barely suppressed anger in
Leigh's voice when she replied, and he could see the color blazing in her
cheeks. "I want a marriage where I can be content, a marriage where I can
be at peace. A marriage should offer solace, not conflict; unity, not division.
Lucas and I have always complemented each other, and he knows me down to my
bones."

Hayes
drew absently on his pipe and found it had gone out. With a frown he set it on
the table. He was not sure just what it was he hoped to accomplish with his questions
about Leigh and her love for Lucas Hale, but he could not leave the subject
alone. Was he trying to convince himself of the depth of Leigh's love for Lucas
so he could put her out of his mind and be free again? Did he want a reason to
hope?

Before
he had time to contemplate the answers to his questions, Leigh was standing
over him, her flushed face set and her hands clenched together at her waist.
"I've had quite enough of this inquisition for one evening, Mister
Banister, so if you will excuse me, I'm going up to bed."

Hayes
rose to stand beside her and, with a show of cordiality he did not feel, took
her arm. "At least let me see you to your cabin," he offered.

Outside
the salon the clear, crisp November moon had painted the sky a deep pewter blue
and washed the decks with silvery light. Moonbeams danced across the water like
a thousand spangles, laying a shimmering pathway to the bank far beyond. But
even the beauty of the night could not banish the tension bubbling between
these two people, and as they walked, all that was in harmony between them was
the sound of their footsteps ringing on the wooden deck.

At
the door to the cabin, Leigh paused as if she wanted one last word on the
subject before they parted. But Hayes sensed he could claim a victory in this
argument with one simple act. Smiling to himself, he swayed toward her with the
sweetness of her lips his goal, but Leigh saw his ploy and stopped it with a
hand braced against his chest.

Hidden
in the deep blue shadow he cast against the wall, Hayes could not read or
interpret Leigh's expression, so when she spoke at last, the mingled
determination and entreaty in her voice surprised him. "Hayes," she
began in a whisper, "promise me—"

He
took a breath, strangely moved by her tone. "What, Leigh? What do you
want?"

Leigh
heard the tenderness and concern in his question and paused in confusion. What
was it she wanted Hayes to promise? she asked herself: not to undermine her
feelings for Lucas Hale; not to make her fall in love with him; not to arouse
in her the dangerous, delightful sensations that could only end in her
downfall? Whatever she asked would reveal far too much about her feelings for
this strong, compelling stranger.

"Promise
me—oh, Hayes, promise me you won't try to change the way I feel about Lucas,
not until the war is over, not until he's come back safely."

Hayes
could feel her eyes on him and could just barely make out the stark expression
she wore. A hundred questions circled in his brain, but the tone of her voice
forbade him any answers. "Leigh, I—"

Her
hand caught one of his, and her urgency communicated itself to him in the most
basic way possible. "Hayes, please give me your word."

As
they stood side by side in the moonlight, he was painfully aware of everything
about her: the scent that clung to her alabaster skin; the lush, long-limbed
body inches from his own; the scope of the feelings she was capable of arousing
in him. Still, he well knew the answer he should make. Why was it so hard to
give her the promise she was seeking? Leigh was beautiful, desirable, unique,
but he didn't want the kind of involvement she would demand, she would deserve.
He wanted to be free, unencumbered, unscathed. This afternoon he could have
taken everything she had to give, and he had refused her. Why was he hesitant
to give her his promise now?

Yet
when he spoke at last, the words were more difficult than he had supposed.
"I won't try to come between you and Lucas Hale," he swore solemnly,
"not now, not ever."

He
waited in silence for some reply, and when none came, he continued harshly.
"There, I've given my word. Does that satisfy you? Does that make you
happy?" He was angry, confused, and in pain, though he didn't fully
understand the reason.

Leigh's
voice was as soft and cool as the November night. "Yes, Hayes, yes. It
pleases me very much." She stood for another moment watching him before
she turned away. Then, without another word, she went inside and closed the
cabin door behind her.

November-December 1861—St. Louis,
Missouri

The
city had changed in her absence, changed in ways Leigh Pennington had not
foreseen. It was grayer, grimmer, busy with an industry that reflected the
stark determination of a country at war. It was harsher, fragmented, divided
now by things that had always been tolerated. It was no longer a city dependent
on the trade between the industrial North and the agricultural South for its
livelihood, and that change showed on the riverfront and in the streets near
the customs house. From the moment the
Barbara Dean
had nosed in to a
berth along the cobblestone levy late Sunday afternoon, Leigh had been aware of
the difference in the town she loved. The dark clouds that hung low over the
jutting spire of the old French cathedral and hovered above the impressive
courthouse dome gave her a sense of impending doom that became more acute as
she watched the familiar surroundings pass beyond the carriage window. In spite
of her delight at being home, nothing could divert her from the menace that
roamed the streets in the guise of Yankee uniforms or the sinister presence
that threatened the life she remembered so well. Nursing at Fort Defiance, she
had become accustomed to seeing men clothed in military blue, but somehow when
they dotted the streets where she'd grown up and filled the park where she had
played as a child, she felt overwhelmed by their numbers. War had intruded on
her home, and she resented both the intrusion and the inevitable change it
brought.

Nor
were things within the town house on Locust Street as she had left them,
either. Horace had accepted a civilian position with the quartermaster corps,
procuring food and supplies for the growing number of troops being mustered
through the city. In revenge for his blatant support of the Union, Althea had
taken it upon herself to make the decision one he would heartily regret.

Only
the position at City General Hospital lived up to its promise. After the tents
at Fort Defiance and the first days in the converted hotel in Cairo, the
polished floors, the spotless kitchen, the adequate help, and the comfortable
surroundings were a welcome change. Though she missed Delia and Mother
Bickerdyke terribly, Leigh liked the hospital and respected the chief surgeon,
Dr. Hodgen. He was an efficient, capable man, and though it was obvious that he
was not totally at ease with the female nurses in his charge, he treated Leigh
with a deference that made it evident she had already proved her worth. To her
amazement Leigh found herself considered something of a heroine. To have had
the courage to leave the safety of her home before it was acceptable to do so
and offer her services as a nurse at a rough-and-ready place like Fort Defiance
was seen by her colleagues as brave and daring. But Leigh dismissed their awe
with an easy laugh and was thankful instead for the good, basic nursing the
experience with Mary Ann Bickerdyke had taught her.