Kary, Elizabeth (33 page)

From
far away they heard the sound of singing, and they paused to listen to the
voices ringing through the night. "It's the men serenading our
newlyweds," Leigh told him with a smile. "They wanted to hold a
traditional charivari, but I threatened them with all sorts of terrible things
if they did. Delia and Nathan only have a few days together, and I won't see
their time spoiled by some back country mischief. Still, the singing sounds
kind of nice, don't you think?"

Leigh
saw Hayes nod in mute reply. He was standing so close to her Leigh could feel
his warm breath stir her hair; she could sense his attraction for her as
strongly as a magnet pulls at steel. Still she fought the almost overwhelming
urge to rest her head against his chest and put her arms around him.

"Leigh,"
Hayes began, his voice holding a note of something she could never remember
hearing in it before, "Leigh, we can't let this go on. It's tearing both
of us apart."

She
knew instantly what he meant and briefly considered denying his words, but she
knew it was fruitless to begin an argument she would eventually have to
concede. What he said was true; these last months of estrangement had been
trying and difficult for them both. She missed his diverting presence, his
humor and his understanding. And it seemed he had missed her as well. Yet could
they possibly go back to the time when they had been nothing more than friends,
a time before she had begged him to make love to her?

She
drew a long sigh, listening to the night sounds around her: the chirping of the
peepers, the fluttering rustle of the wind through the leaves. A soft, loamy
breeze brought the smells of earth and growing things to her nostrils, mixed
with the faint citrus scent of Hayes's cologne. The darkness was all encompassing,
tangible, peaceful, and her feeling of surcease included the pleasure of
Hayes's presence beside her. He was comfort, contentment, and security. But he
was also excitement and desire that could run through her blood like
wind-driven flame. And she well knew the terrible price such uncontrollable
desire could extract.

Could
she share one part of her life with Hayes, Leigh wondered, and totally deny
another? Would Hayes let her forget the passion that had flared between them so
they could return to the satisfying friendship they had once shared? What was
it that Hayes wanted? And did she have the strength and will to deny what he
might ask in return for the comfort she so desperately craved?

"Leigh?"
Hayes's voice was softer still, tinged with compassion and concern.
"Leigh, can you deny that there has been a bond between us from the very
start? Can you deny that there are things between us now that you've never felt
before?"

It
was a question she did not want to answer, but something in his tone made it
impossible to lie. "No, Hayes, I can't deny it." Her words were a
bridge between them, but it was a bridge she did not have the courage to cross.

She
heard Hayes's slowly indrawn breath and sensed the conflict it masked. His next
words were a long time coming, and when he finally spoke, the question was not
what she had expected. "Leigh," he asked almost in a whisper,
"is it so difficult to return to what we once had?"

"Is
that what you want, Hayes, to return to the time before Lucas died?"

Hayes
was silent for a long moment. "It's not what I want; it's not what I had
hoped for, but if that's all you can give me, I'll have to be satisfied."

Leigh
turned her face to him in the dimness of the forest glade, wishing she could
read the intent in his eyes. "It's all I'll ever have to offer you,
Hayes," she told him. "It's all I'll ever be willing to give."

Hayes
nodded, and she thought she could detect a smile on his lips. "I think
that's enough," he said softly, "enough for now."

May 23, 1862—St. Louis, Missouri

"Did
you
or did you not send letters through the Confederate lines at Hayes Banister's
request?"

Major
Aaron Crawford stood glaring down at Leigh in the confines of Dr. Hodgen's
office at City General Hospital, demanding answers Leigh did not want to give.
Ever since that blustery afternoon months before when Hayes had thrust a
handful of messages at her to send south, Leigh had known they would bring
trouble. She had tried to refuse him then just as she tried to refuse the same
request less than a week ago when Hayes had approached her with another letter.
Nor had she met with more success resisting him this time than she had the
first.

Raising
her chin, Leigh faced her inquisitor, determined to learn the reason for Aaron
Crawford's interrogation. "Isn't sending letters to Confederates against
the law?" she asked innocently.

"Do
you expect me to believe that the law against communication with the Rebels is
never broken?" he countered, eyeing her.

"Though
it is against regulations to send messages south, I understand there are a
great number of people who continue to do just that," she argued.
"And what can you expect in a city like St. Louis with such divided
loyalties?"

Crawford
frowned. He knew what Leigh said was true. Illegal mail service to the
Confederacy had been flourishing ever since the opening days of the war. Now,
even in the lush, full-blown spring of 1862, the Union had found no way to
combat it. Smuggling mail south was the kind of resistance it was impossible to
curtail because as soon as one courier was discovered and arrested, another
sprang up to take his place, Southern men and women proud to flaunt the Yankee
rule.

Crawford
prowled across the tiny room. "Have you sent letters south, Leigh?"
he asked.

Leigh's
mouth narrowed. She knew it was a Federal offense to correspond with the enemy
and considered her answer carefully. Surely Crawford would not be here this
afternoon unless he had proof that she had been sending mail south, unless one
of her letters to Brandon Hale had gone astray. "Yes," she finally
admitted, "I have sent letters through the lines, and so have at least
half the other families in the city." She did not tell Aaron Crawford that
smuggling messages out of St. Louis was getting more difficult and dangerous
every day. Since the spring offensive had begun, the Yankees were much more
careful about security.

"And
is Hayes Banister included in the number involved in that pursuit?"

Leigh
shrugged negligently. "Why don't you ask Hayes that question, Aaron,
instead of wasting time I might better be spending with my patients?"

Aaron
Crawford settled himself on the edge of the desk, frowning down at Leigh. She
was a thoroughly irritating woman, he thought as he watched her. Irritating,
yes, but as desirable as a woman could be. Even in a severe dark dress and prim
white apron, even with her lush red-brown hair confined in a black chenille
snood, she was exquisite. And so very much like her lovely mother.

Briefly,
thoughts of Althea flitted through Crawford's mind. Althea was still a
breathtaking woman with a rich, mature beauty that few would ever attain. And,
he noted with a swell of satisfaction, in these past few weeks her resistance
to his advances had been dwindling. It had been clear from the moment he met
her that Althea was married to a man who had ceased to make her happy, and
because of that she was vulnerable, prey to his particular kind of charm.
Lonely women, women abandoned by their men for the sake of business or other
pursuits, were tremendously flattered by the attentions of an attractive,
virile male. They were hungry for compliments, starved for the semblance of
romance, and he knew just what it was they craved. Married women like Althea
Pennington, women who could hide their liaisons with him in the guise of visits
to their seamstress or drives in the country, made charming and generous
conquests, and Crawford was looking forward to enjoying Althea's favors in the
not-too-distant future.

But
it had only been since he had met Althea Pennington and then her lovely
daughter that a new depth had been added to his lust. He had thought Leigh
would fall into his hands like ripe fruit after the death of her Confederate
fiancé. Instead it was Althea whose resistance was weakening, Althea who would
be the first of the two to succumb. It was not what he had expected, but she
was half of what he craved. And once he had seduced the mother, he would find a
way to conquer the daughter as well.

Aaron
Crawford sighed imperceptibly and put his thoughts away. He was not here today
to satisfy his carnal desires. He was looking for proof that Hayes Banister was
a Confederate spy. And how gratifying it would be to accuse the man when he
found evidence of his duplicity.

Judging
from the packets of Confederate mail the Federal Army had managed to intercept,
most of the letters sent South were innocuous. They related greetings, family
news, the prevailing weather, and because of their mundane contents were no
treat to read. But occasionally something would catch his eye and make Crawford
wonder at the writer's intent. Hayes Banister's letter to a woman named Sarah
Dean in southwestern Tennessee had been one of these.

Crawford's
interest was aroused at first by the writer's position in St. Louis. As an aide
to James Eads, Banister would be an ideal position to glean military
information. Surely Eads had advance notice on deployment of the ironclads in
order to make spare parts available and keep the vessels in working order.
Doubtless other tactical information was made known to Eads and his associates
as well. Until Crawford had begun to delve into Banister's activities and
background, his connection to the Confederates had seemed unlikely. But as
Crawford followed his hunches, questioning first Eads and now Leigh Pennington,
his suspicions about Banister grew.

Again
the Yankee major turned his attention to the self-possessed young woman before
him. How much did Leigh Pennington know about Banister's activities?

"Leigh,"
Crawford began, "I know Hayes Banister is sending messages south, and I
want to know why."

"It's
possible he is concerned for friends and family in the Confederacy just as many
of us are," she suggested.

"No,
I think his reasons are deeper and more sinister than that," Crawford
drawled.

Leigh's
head came up sharply, clearly grasping his unspoken charge of treason in spite
of his casual manner. "Are you saying Hayes Banister is a Rebel spy?"
she demanded when her first wave of astonishment had passed.

"The
man does have connections to the Confederacy through his family and from his
years as a riverboat pilot. And he has never made any attempt to sign up to
fight for the Union."

Leigh's
eyes sparked at the allusion to Hayes's cowardice, and her rebuttal was swift
and cutting. "Don't you think that the work Hayes has been doing at the
shipyards is at least as important as providing cannon fodder?"

Crawford
made note of the girl's willingness to defend Banister before he continued.
"Then too there is his association with a man named Nathan Travis who
bought up large numbers of Negro slaves in the years before the war. Banister
has been seen in Travis's company on several occasions since the fighting
began."

Aaron
paused, watching Leigh for signs of response, catching the flicker of
recognition when he mentioned Travis's name.

"Furthermore,
I have reason to believe that both Travis and Banister have traveled unopposed
behind Confederate lines."

Though
Leigh fought to keep her face impassive, Crawford's words filled her with
confusion and nameless dread. She had heard rumors of Hayes's mysterious trips to
Forts Donelson and Henry and to the area near Shiloh in the weeks before the
battle. Why had Hayes left the busy shipyard to travel into what was then
Southern-held territory? And what was Hayes's relationship to Nathan Travis?
The friendship between them had been evident that first afternoon in Cairo; now
Leigh wondered if there was a special reason for their closeness. But then that
implied her best friend's husband was a spy, and Leigh could no more accept
that conclusion than the one that Hayes was working to further the Rebel cause.

Travis
had spent several days in Savannah after the battle at Shiloh and did seem to
know more about the area than a casual visitor might, but he had come to the
makeshift hospital to marry Delia, not for clandestine reasons of his own. Yet
for a man who was newly a groom, he and Hayes had spent an inordinate amount of
time together, sitting up late by the light of a lantern, talking in voices
that no one else could hear. Then too there was Travis's wound. When she asked
him how he'd been hurt, he had given her a slow, wry grin and muttered
something about having spent time with the "wrong companions." Had
she imagined the conspiratorial glance that had passed between the two men when
he'd given his reply? Could Aaron Crawford be right in his accusations? Was
Delia's new husband a Confederate spy? And was Hayes Banister his accomplice?

"Aaron,
this is madness," Leigh protested, trying to mask her doubts. "Hayes
is the last person in the world I would suspect of disloyalty to the Federal
cause!"

"Then
prove it, Leigh. Tell me about the messages you sent south for him."