Kary, Elizabeth (18 page)

Late
one afternoon not long after her return to St. Louis, Leigh was trudging toward
the horsecar with a monumental pile of linen bundled in her arms. The pipes to
the laundry room in the basement of the hospital had frozen with the first hard
frost, and, like several of the other nurses with domestic help at home, Leigh
had volunteered to take a portion of the dirty clothes to be washed and
returned the next day.

She
was just picking her way along the uneven sidewalk on Fifth Street, wishing she
had either taken fewer sheets or accepted the help one of the orderlies had
offered, when all forward progress abruptly ceased and a familiar voice
assailed her.

"Is
that really a walking bundle of clothes I see, or is there a person behind it
somewhere?" Grinning, Hayes Banister peeked around the pile of wash, his
silvery-blue eyes full of mischief.

There
was a sudden catch in Leigh's chest at the sight of him, and she did her best
to dismiss it as nothing more than a reaction of surprise. Hayes had not made
any attempt to call on her since she had left the
Barbara Dean,
and she
had convinced herself she was glad he was keeping his word. But now, with his
deeply dimpled smile shining at her from behind the towering bundle of clothes
and his vital presence making her forget the long hours she had spent at the
hospital, Leigh was unconditionally glad to see him.

"Could
you use a hand with this?" Hayes offered, shifting some of the weight of
the clothes from her even before she'd had a chance to answer him. "Where
on earth are you taking such a mountain of laundry, anyway?"

"I'm
headed for the horsecar, and if you can help me get these things that
far—"

Hayes
began to laugh. "The horsecar? You aren't serious! They'll probably make
you pay double fare for all of this!"

"Well,
there was a problem with the water in the laundry at the hospital," Leigh
explained breathlessly, struggling to maintain her hold on the mound of wash.
"Since we'll need these in the morning, I thought if I could get
everything home, I could wash them and let them dry overnight so they'd be
ready to be used tomorrow."

"A
noble project, to be sure," Hayes agreed, "and one I'd be willing to
donate carriage fare to, at least." Taking the entire bundle from her and
tucking it under his arm as best he could, he waved down a passing carriage and
helped Leigh climb inside. The huge wad of dirty wash came next, followed by
Hayes himself squeezing into the narrow seat. Because of what had happened on
the
Barbara Dean,
Leigh now suffered momentary misgivings about being
alone with Hayes, but wedged into the hired cab with the laundry piled high
between them, Leigh's concern evaporated.

"You've
picked such a stimulating companion for this excursion, my dear," Hayes
complained, peering over the top of the bundle. "Are you sure all this
isn't just a ploy to keep me at a distance?"

Leigh
giggled at the thought. "But of course it is, Hayes. I just knew you would
be lurking outside the hospital today waiting for me, so I decided to bring a
chaperon to keep you in your place."

"Well,
you've certainly succeeded admirably. I couldn't move a muscle even if I did
have designs on you."

"Just
as I planned," Leigh crooned, grinning, "just as I planned."
There was something in Hayes Banister that never failed to garner a response in
her: something vital, something exciting, something she could never bring
herself to name. The air seemed to crackle with energy when they were together,
with humor, with tension, with life. He filled her with conflicting emotions: a
sense of security so elemental and profound that she could take refuge in its
strength, and a threat to her future that took her breath when she thought of
the havoc his mere presence could create.

"Now
that you've been back a while, how are you finding St. Louis?" Hayes
inquired. "Is the position at the hospital everything you hoped it would
be? And how are your parents?"

She
had been so caught up in her own thoughts it took Leigh a moment to answer.
"Oh, the nursing position is fine. Our facilities are so much better here
than they were at Fort Defiance."

"But?"
Hayes must have sensed the hesitancy in her voice, an underlying reserve he did
not understand.

Leigh
glanced out the window. Did she really want to tell her problems to this man?
Somehow he seemed to invite her confidences, but could Hayes even begin to
fathom how much the change in the city distressed her? Would she be able to
explain about the strain between her parents and her own feelings of impending
disaster whenever she heard them snarling at each other? Was he capable of the
insight necessary to recognize her concerns and fears for what they were, if
she did decide to open herself to him?

"I
guess I just miss Delia and Mother Bickerdyke," she lied instead.

In
silence the hired carriage pulled up in front of the Pennington town house, and
Hayes took the laundry as far as the door.

"I
thank you for your help this afternoon, Hayes," Leigh told him with a
smile. "I'll admit, it might have been a real challenge to handle this
laundry in a horsecar."

"But
there's not a challenge of any kind you'd willingly avoid, is there?" he
observed wryly, answering with a smile of his own.

"Not
when it comes to the welfare of my patients," she assured him.
"Mother Bickerdyke taught me that lesson very well."

Hayes
acknowledged her words with a nod of his head and turned his attention to other
topics. "Do you usually leave the hospital at this time of the day?"

"Yes,
usually. The shift I'm working is over at four. Why?"

"Oh,
just wondering, I guess."

But
the next day it was evident why Hayes had asked the question, and his reasons
became more obvious in the cold November and December days that followed. She
found him waiting for her at the main doors of the big, marble-fronted building
three or four times a week, sometimes with a hired carriage parked at the curb,
sometimes with nothing more in mind than walking her as far as the trolley
stop. Leigh came to welcome the sight of him leaning patiently against a
lamppost, to crave the spark that leaped between them, filling her with new
energy no matter how long and difficult her day had been. They did nothing more
than talk when he took her home or as they stood waiting for the horsecar, chatting
about mundane things mostly: about the escalating price of essentials and the
steadily worsening winter weather. They discussed things at the shipyards and
the hospital, the difficulty the Army was having finding good-quality supplies
to feed and clothe its men, the plodding progress of the war, and the
skirmishes being fought in the country to the west.

As
the days passed, Leigh found herself looking forward to their meetings, the few
moments of friendly companionship before she faced the deteriorating situation
in the house on Locust Street. She welcomed the chance to express her opinions
on the news of the day without fear of censure by one parent or the other and
enjoyed listening to what Hayes had to say as well. She might even have asked
him to share a meal with her family as he had months before, but she would not
invite anyone to a dinner table where words were fired back and forth like
salvos between armies at war. These were dark days for the city, for the
country, and for Leigh herself, and the few carefree minutes she shared with
Hayes Banister at the end of the day became a luxury she treasured.

As
they walked toward the trolley one afternoon just before Christmas, Hayes drew
her urgently into the shadowed doorway of a storefront shop. His face was
tensed and serious as he stood over her, and there was a strange intensity in
the depths of his blue-gray eyes. For a moment Leigh appreciatively noted the
wedges of color the cold had brought to his cheeks and the few wet flakes of
snow that sparkled in his hair, before concern and curiosity overwhelmed her.

"I
want you to send these south for me, Leigh," he murmured, pressing several
letters into her hands. "They need to go through as soon as
possible." When Leigh only stood staring up at him in silence, he went on,
his voice soft and persuasive. "I'm well aware that mail is smuggled
through the lines, and I am quite certain you know exactly how it's done."

Leigh
watched Banister in confusion, stunned by what he was asking her to do. In a
city like St. Louis where loyalties were divided, much went on without the
government's knowledge or sanction. As with any activity that existed outside
the strictures of the law, there were risks, penalties, and dangers. Sending
mail to the Confederacy was no exception, and she shook her head at first,
filled with questions.

"But
why are you sending letters south, Hayes? Who are these messages for?"

He
scowled down at her in evident irritation, clearly unwilling to answer her.
"Can you send them for me or not?"

"Yes,
I can send them for you. I've sent letters of my own, and I know the
courier."

"You've
sent them to Lucas Hale, no doubt," Hayes accused, then glanced away.

"In
the hope they would find Lucas, yes," she said, nodding. "And though
the mail does go out with some regularity, you need to understand that there's
no guarantee these letters will reach their destination. Or that there will be
an answer."

He
heard the sharp regret in her tone as she spoke the last sentence, and a frown
tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I don't expect an answer," he
growled. "Getting them through the lines is all that's important."

"But
who are they for?" Leigh asked again.

"What
the hell difference does it make to you?" Banister exploded. The words
were angry and curt, and he clearly resented her questions. Then, as if
regretting his sharp words, he sighed with resignation and began to explain.
"My mother has some family down in Tennessee, a cousin I've always been
particularly close to, a great-uncle, and some others. I promised her I'd send
them Christmas greetings. They—they used to come to visit us for the holidays,
and she didn't want the season to pass without someone sending word."

"But
surely your mother knows of people in Cincinnati who—"

"Damn
it, Leigh, if you won't help me, at least tell me where to take the
letters."

"No,
no, I'll take them for you. They would know you're a Yankee; it might be
dangerous." She was looking past him, thinking aloud. She didn't believe
the tale he'd told her about the letters being for his family, but if it was so
important for him to get the messages through the lines, she would take them to
the woman up on Chestnut Street herself. Without so much as a glance at the
addresses, Leigh shoved the envelopes into her reticule. Beside her Hayes sagged
with relief.

The
wind whipped along the street, making them both shudder with cold as they
huddled in the doorway and Hayes's arm tightened around her protectively.
"Thank
you, Leigh," he whispered against her hair. "Thank you for agreeing
to get the letters through."

But
Leigh did not hear his words of appreciation or feel the warmth of him beside
her. Instead she was staring past him through the gathering dusk with doubt in
the depths of her spruce-green eyes and a sudden chill of foreboding in her heart.

***

December 28, 1861

Hayes
Banister noticed Leigh the moment she appeared in the doorway at the far end of
the double parlor where the dancing had just begun, and, as always, something
warm and exciting lit inside him at the sight of her. In a bottle-green gown of
watered silk and with holly leaves woven through her garnet hair, she was a
strikingly beautiful woman. The deep ruffle of ecru lace dripping from the wide
neckline pointed up the creamy slope of her shoulders, and the wide,
bell-shaped skirt with rows of delicate niching gave her a regal air that made
her seem aloof, yet compelling. Even from across the room Hayes felt her power
to stir him, and he watched with a glow in his eyes as she stood quietly
conversing with their host for this evening's festivities.

In
the weeks since her return to St. Louis, Hayes had seen a good deal of Leigh
Pennington. Their brief meetings had quickly become the high point of his days,
and he found himself watching the clock impatiently in the afternoon, waiting
for the time when he could leave James Eads's offices and walk over to the
hospital. After spending twelve or fourteen hours of each twenty-four hunched
over a drawing board, Hayes enjoyed the chance to escape from his assignments
and get out in the air. Now that the ironclad project was nearly complete,
there were other kinds of boats to design and build for use along the
Mississippi: mortar barges, transports, tinclads, and rams, all meant to
disrupt Confederate shipping and open the river channel to the south. It was
stimulating and demanding work, but it could easily consume all of a man's time
and energies. And as the days progressed, he found
in Leigh's
quiet company a delightful diversion to the satisfying but solitary life he was
living.

Checking
the knot in his gray and white pinstriped necktie, then stroking one hand along
the lapel of his frock coat, Hayes skirted the dance floor, moving purposefully
in Leigh's direction. That he was drawn to her like steel to a magnet no longer
troubled him. In the weeks since she had returned from Cairo, he and Leigh had
become a part of each other's lives: friends and confidants, allies and
coconspirators, until somehow it seemed only right that he should be able to
claim a place by her side.