Kary, Elizabeth (63 page)

The
two women sat silent for a long time: Sarah caught up in memories the other
woman could not share, and Leigh trapped in a torment of her own. She had done
the right thing, the thing Hayes would have wanted her to do, but she felt
bereft and lost at forfeiting her last link with her husband.

Finally
Sarah slid the signet ring onto her finger and brought out a handkerchief to
dry her cheeks.

"Leigh,
I thank you. You'll never know what this ring means to me and to David."

Leigh
smiled sadly and reached across to squeeze the other woman's hand.
"Returning the ring was what Hayes intended, and I was glad to carry out
his wishes."

"And
Hayes," Sarah asked, after a moment. "Where is Hayes serving
now?"

Leigh
had known the question was inevitable, and she had tried to steel herself to
give the answer. "Hayes died here at Chattanooga, several days before I
arrived."

***

November 29, 1864
—
St. Louis,
Missouri

St.
Louis had changed since Leigh had left the city, but perhaps no more than Leigh
had changed herself. That soft summer morning a year and a half before, she had
left the man she loved sleeping soundly in her bed, never suspecting as she had
stood silently watching him that it would be the last glimpse she would ever
have of Hayes. She carried the memory with her still: of his beard-shadowed
face half-hidden in the pillow, of the web of his silky lashes lying dark upon
his cheeks, of the strong lines of his body clearly outlined by the bedclothes.
Then she had been confused and frightened by the snarl of emotions she had not
been able to reconcile. But these last months had brought her the understanding
she was seeking and with it a regret that would haunt her all her days. She had
carried a child and lost it, sought enlightenment and found it. She had come
face-to-face with her weaknesses and turned them into strengths. It was only
now that she believed herself worthy of the man Hayes Banister had been, only
now that she was ready to give all the love Hayes had craved and deserved. But
Hayes was dead, and the loss had marked her deeply.

In
the last months, she had accompanied Mary Ann Bickerdyke to Atlanta in the wake
of Sherman's army. She had endured the hardships the soldiers had faced and
done what she could to help the civilians innocently caught up in the backlash
of the war. She had seen men die and had saved the lives of others. She had
immersed herself in nursing and had been readily absorbed. Since that day in
June of 1863, she had known happiness and pain, conviction and cowardice,
generosity and loss. It had made Leigh wholly a woman of her times, determined
and unbowed. She had come to grips with the shadows from the past and was ready
to start her life anew.

On
the morning she had left, the St. Louis waterfront had been silent and
deserted, symbolic of a languishing city that had been vanquished by the war.
Today it was alive with steamboats and activity, as if the city had a new lease
on the future just as Leigh did herself. Her spirits rose as she looked out
across the bags and barrels, the boxes and crates, and the mobs of busy people
who made the city thrive.

The
war in the West was over now that Sterling Price had been driven from Missouri,
and though battles were still being fought in the East, every day brought the
inevitable Federal victory closer. Sherman was marching to the sea, Grant had
Petersburg under siege, and the Shenandoah Valley was being swept of Rebel
soldiers. There were still battles left to fight, victories to win, and men to
nurse, but far ahead she could see an end to the nation's suffering, and Leigh
was infinitely glad.

As
the steamboat pulled into its dockage, she caught sight of her father's
carriage parked on the rise at Wharf Street. Simultaneously, Bran caught sight
of her, and the joyous wave he gave spoke of a welcome that warmed her heart.
Minutes later Horace met her at the end of the gangway and swept her up in a
warm embrace. Bran and Felicity had waited in the carriage, but their greeting
was no less exuberant.

Back
at the town house in Lucas Place, they ate a celebratory dinner as they shared
stories of their recent activities. Horace was still working with the
Quartermaster Corps, though on a much less active level than he had been earlier
in the war. Bran, though hampered by his crutches, had taken up helping at the
Confederate prisons. Of them all, it was only Felicity who life had not
appreciably changed.

Bran
once more looked like the young man Leigh had always known, though his natural
exuberance was tempered by a serious side that Leigh had never seen.

The
change in her father was more startling and pronounced. Horace seemed at least
a decade older than he had been at the start of the war. The clothes that had
once flattered his robust physique now hung in folds around him, and the light
in his eyes that had marked him as a man of power had been extinguished by the
hardships he had seen. It was upsetting for Leigh to see the toll the war had
taken on her father, as if her memories of childhood had somehow been betrayed.
As she watched Horace and noted the subtle changes in his voice and manner, she
wondered if it was the war or something much more personal that had been the
cause.

"Well,
Leigh," Horace addressed her when Bran and Felicity were gone, "what
are your plans now that your stint at nursing is done?"

"It's
not over, Father, just as the war has not yet reached its conclusion. Sherman
sent Mrs. Bickerdyke and me home from Atlanta, but once he reaches Savannah,
we'll be joining him again."

"And
when will that be?" he inquired.

Leigh
gave a lazy shrug. "Come spring, perhaps. It depends on how much
resistance he meets cutting across Georgia, I suppose."

Horace
took a seat on the settee opposite her. "Though the Confederacy is all but
defeated, I doubt the Rebels will give up without a fight."

"No,"
Leigh agreed.

"But
what then? What will you do? Will you return to St. Louis?"

"Father,"
Leigh began, voicing the plans she had been pondering for months, "I'm
going to take the money Grandfather left me and go to medical school back
East." At Horace's stunned expression, Leigh hurried to explain.
"I've spent the best part of four years living and working in Army
hospitals, and I know my capabilities. Even before the war I wanted a career in
medicine, but I was afraid. Now that I've seen the worst men can do to each
other and proved myself as a nurse, I think it's time to learn all the things
battlefield experience could not teach me."

"But,
Leigh, medicine is no place for a woman. You need a home, a family—"

"What
I need is for Hayes to turn up alive," she finished sadly.

"There's
no hope of that, is there?"

Leigh
shook her head. "They never found his body, but it seems useless to pin my
hopes on the possibility that he got out of that river somehow. He's been
missing for over a year, and I have to go on without him. Hayes would have
understood about medical school; he understood about everything I wanted to do."

Horace
fell silent, and the sound of the fire crackling in the grate and the ticking
of the ormolu clock seemed loud in the opulent parlor.

"Your
mother would have understood too, wouldn't she?" he asked after a few
moments.

"Yes,
she does understand. I had a letter from her just before I left Atlanta."

"And
how is she? I haven't had word of her since she left St. Louis."

Leigh
looked across at her father. "Why don't you go to see for yourself? She's
at Uncle Theo's plantation, and I think she'd be pleased to see you."

"If
she wanted to see me, she should never have left St. Louis." Horace's
voice was filled with pain.

Leigh
paused before she spoke, measuring her words with care. "She said you
wouldn't understand her reasons for leaving; that even though she loved you,
she had to go away."

"Why?"
he croaked. "Why did she go?"

"Because
she had to prove her strength before she had anything of herself to give.
Because you were destroying each other and any love you'd ever had."

"Oh,
God, yes," Horace admitted after a moment, his face softening with the
memories. "We did love each other once. I was in love with Althea the
first moment I laid eyes on her on the street in New Orleans. She was so
beautiful, Leigh, and you are so much like her. I followed her into a millinery
shop, drawn as if we were joined by some invisible thread. At first I was
afraid to approach her. It was obvious that she was from an old Southern
family, and though I had done well myself, I was essentially a self-made man.

"Still,
I couldn't help myself." He smiled gently as he remembered. "She was
trying on a bonnet, some frilly thing with feathers and pink ribbon. It made
her look so soft and fragile, and I knew right then I wanted to hold her and
protect her. The proprietor had begun to watch me suspiciously, so I had to
take my courage in my hands and talk to her. I finally said—"

"
'Even the brightest plumage is no match for your beauty, madame.' " Leigh
laughed. "Yes, Mother told me. She also said you left the store without
even taking time to ask her name."

In
spite of the years that had intervened, a faint flush rose in Horace's cheeks.
"Yes, I did run like a scared rabbit, but I was not so much of a fool as
to put her out of my mind. I found out who she was and I married her, in spite
of her family's objections. And I did my best to make her happy."

"She
still loves you, you know."

"Does
she?" Horace asked almost hopefully. "If she loves me, why did she go
away?"

Leigh
sighed. "We both did Mother a great disservice," she began slowly.
"Mother was a diamond, and we treated her like glass. She was far stronger
and more capable than either of us let her be, and the problems arose from her
idleness, her own dissatisfaction. Hayes understood that long before I
could."

Horace
sat frowning, digesting Leigh's words.

"Father,
why don't you go to her?" she urged. "Mother loves you, and you still
love her. The war is no longer keeping you apart. Why don't you go to Louisiana
and see if you can't find a way to work things out. It's foolish for you both
to be unhappy when there's a chance to mend the rift."

"Did
she say she was unhappy? Did she say that she was ready to come back?"
Horace inched forward on the settee, intent on his daughter's answer.

"I
think you need to talk to her and ask her those questions yourself."

Leigh
came to her feet and went to rest one hand on his shoulder. "Take your
courage in your hands and approach Mother as you did that day in the millinery
shop. Go to Louisiana and see if you can make things right between you."

"Do
you really think she'll listen to me after all that's happened?"

"I
think you will have to learn to listen to her, too. And if you do, Father, I
doubt you will be sorry."

Horace's
eyes were narrowed speculatively, as if he were seeing other days.
"Perhaps I will go to Louisiana, Leigh," he said slowly.
"Perhaps I will go after all."

***

December 27, 1864

Leigh
Banister puttered around the Penningtons' spacious parlor, plucking dead leaves
from the plants and straightening the antimacassars. She was too preoccupied to
read or sew, and with her father away in Louisiana the house seemed silent and
oppressive. Earlier in the day, she had gone with Bran to the Gratiot Street
Prison and found that the stories Althea had told were true. The men confined
there were filthy and vermin-infested, their cells overcrowded and freezing
cold. There were no blankets or clean clothes, and the meager amount of food
allowed the inmates was often spoiled and inedible. Nor could she find comfort
in believing that the Gratiot Street Prison was the exception to the rule, not
when conditions at Camp Douglas near Chicago and at the prison in Elmira, New
York, were the scandal of the North.

"They
say the Southern prisons are even worse," Bran had told her as they drove
home, "and it's small wonder, since the Confederacy can barely feed and
clothe its army."

Since
she had returned to the house, Leigh had not been able to banish the
Confederate prisoners from her mind or drive the chill of their plight from her
bones. As she shivered with the memory of the things she'd seen, she worried
about the care these men would need when the war came to an end. Surely they
could not be expected to find their way home by themselves without food,
transportation, and places to rest. These men would be marked by the war in a
far different way from the men who had fallen in battle and would need at least
as much patience and care to heal their invisible wounds. Perhaps she should
talk to someone at the Sanitary Commission about her concerns, Leigh mused as
she added coal to the fire in the grate and stirred the winking embers to life.

As
she bent over her work she became aware of a commotion in the hall, and a man
suddenly burst through the double doors into the parlor. Whirling at the sound
of his approach, Leigh dropped the poker with a clatter and stared in disbelief
at Major Aaron Crawford.