Kary, Elizabeth (7 page)

The
fact that she was engaged to marry another man did not help his state of mind.
He had fought for a betrothed woman once before and lost. Yet Hayes sensed
Leigh felt that same unwelcome pull, and it hurt that she had been able to
spurn him in spite of it. It wasn't difficult to discern her reasons for
sending him away, either. These feelings must be confusing and intimidating to
her as well, especially when she was promised to another. Still, her rejection
stung.

Banister
burrowed deeper into his feather pillows and pulled the sheet up to his chin.
Until now all women except Monica had existed on the periphery of his life.
They were decorative and pleasantly enticing, but not nearly as compelling as
his work at the shipyards or his life on the river. And no matter what he felt
or sensed in Leigh Pennington, he was not willing to let her assume a larger
role in his life. He had his report to write for Nathan Travis and the meeting
with James Eads to occupy his mind, and once those things were accomplished, he
would be on his way back home. It would be no hardship to avoid the beauteous
Leigh until his business in St. Louis was concluded. Then he would head for
Cincinnati, back to the busy, uncomplicated life he led there. The wisest
course was to put the girl out of his mind. He was sure of it.

With
a murmur of determination he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. Yet
in spite of his resolves it was the spicy, orange-blossom scent, the honeyed
taste and the tempting feel of the auburn-haired Leigh Pennington who filled
his dreams that night and for many nights thereafter.

May 11, 1861

The
muffled
voices from the front hall drifted up to Leigh Pennington, alerting her that
the visitors she was expecting had arrived. Not an hour before a slave had come
from the Hales next door with a message that Lucas and Brandon had been
released from the Federal Arsenal with the rest of the militia captured at Camp
Jackson, and wished to see her. The unusual formality of sending a note before
calling, coupled with the events of the past twenty-four hours, filled Leigh
with misgivings. Why, she wondered, hadn't Lucas and Bran simply clattered in
the back door and shouted her name as they had been doing for as long as she
could remember? What had made them suddenly so formal?

Anxious
to learn the reason, Leigh bent closer to the bedroom mirror and tried to pinch
a faint flush of color into her cheeks. But in spite of her best efforts, the
sleepless night she had spent was evident in her face. Still, it was small
wonder that the events of the previous day had robbed her of her rest. Taut as
a plucked string and trembling inside, she had lain beneath the covers the
night before with her eyes tightly closed, courting sleep. Yet as hard as she
tried to forget the scenes outside Camp Jackson, they had played and replayed
on the insides of her eyelids. She could still smell the dust stirred by score
upon score of marching feet, could hear the murmur of the crowd grow shrill
with panic. She could feel her own escalating fear and could recall the
overwhelming relief and inexplicable security of having Hayes Banister beside
her.

Even
more than the events of the day, she had tried to exclude this disturbing
stranger from her thoughts, but Banister refused to be shut out. No matter how
long she had lain staring into the dark, or how diligently she had schooled her
thoughts to serenity, Hayes's face rose up before her: his crystal-blue eyes
sparkling with laughter, his mouth curved in a teasing smile. It seemed
impossible that in the short time she had known him any man could become so
entrenched in her thoughts, but Banister had inexplicably become a part of her.
Feeling guilty that Hayes was on her mind once more, Leigh frowned and pushed
the memory away before turning toward the stairs and the lifelong friends awaiting
her in the foyer.

Lucas
and Bran were indeed in the hall when she reached the foot of the stairs, and
without a word she hugged first her fiancé and then his brother.

"Come
into the parlor," she invited when the maid had taken their hats. But once
inside, the two men stood silent as if they did not know what to say to her. As
she waited for them to speak, she studied them both. Lucas was by far the more
handsome, a man cast from gold with sunshine-bright hair and bronzed skin. He
was tall and lean with the unconscious grace of the plantation aristocracy
evident in his movements. His features were classically molded, and beneath his
fair arched brows his eyes shone clear, cool hazel. After years of familiarity,
Leigh had never much considered her fiancé's looks, but since their betrothal
she had begun to notice the envy in other women's eyes when he was beside her.
Brandon Hale's features were broader and less refined than his brother's, and
his hair had a rusty tinge that Lucas's did not. A spattering of freckles
speckled his cheeks, and a lopsided grin gave evidence of a winning charm that
warmed everyone he met. Between Leigh and Bran there had always been a special
bond of mutual understanding and respect, forged when they were little more
than toddlers. Perhaps it had grown from the need to band together when playing
with the older boy, or because of a similarity in their characters, but
whatever forged it, the link had grown stronger as they grew. Nor had Leigh's
betrothal to Lucas affected it.

In
the end it was Leigh who broke the silence, asking a question whose answer she
both knew and dreaded. "You're both dressed for travel. Are you going
away?"

Lucas
came to take her hands. "We have no choice, Leigh, especially after what
happened yesterday and what we were forced to do to gain our freedom."

She
looked up into his somber face. "And what was that?"

"An
oath of loyalty to the United States was administered this morning, and we were
forced to swear allegiance to the Union or be shipped to prisons in the
North!"

"And
did you swear?" she whispered.

"Yes,
we swore," Brandon admitted grimly.

"We
all swore, Leigh," Lucas continued, "but though we said the words, no
one meant them. An oath made under duress is hardly binding."

"But
why are you going away? And where will you go?"

"We
can't stay here, Leigh, not now, not after what's happened! Ever since the
Secession Convention in March voted for Missouri to remain in the Union, I was
afraid it would come to this. Both Bran and I believe in the Confederate cause,
and if we do, we have no choice but to join our brothers in the South and fight
for those beliefs."

"But
where are you going now?" she repeated.

"We've
heard that Sterling Price is recruiting troops near Jefferson City," Bran
told her. "If he's not, we'll go south until we find another place to join
the Confederate army."

Leigh
knew Lucas could be caught up in the excitement of the moment and might act
without thinking, but one look at Brandon's set face confirmed their resolve.
His irrepressible grin was gone, and in its place was steely determination. And
suddenly she realized there was nothing she could do to deter them.

"Now,
don't you worry, Leigh. It won't take more than a month or two to convince
those Yankees to let the Confederacy go its own way. Then we'll be back, and
you and I can be married as we planned," Lucas assured her. His tanned
face was flushed with the promise of excitement, and his eyes sparkled with a
restless need to turn words into actions. This brash courage and ungovernable
recklessness had always been one of Lucas's greatest failings; it had led them
all into danger more than once when they were children, and Leigh was afraid.
But those very traits that made her fear for his safety were the ones that
would be praised, honored, and revered in a soldier. To Lucas the war would
offer irresistible opportunities to prove his daring and test his romantic
ideals of bravery and honor. And though Brandon's motives might vary from his
brother's, he was as deeply committed to the Rebel cause.

Leigh
knew it was useless to argue with either man once his course was set, but a
score of questions rioted in her mind. Was it possible that the Confederacy
could win its independence in a matter of months? President Lincoln had vowed
never to let the seceding states leave the Union, and with men like her father,
General Lyon, Hayes Banister, and her mother's friend Major Crawford behind
him, could the Confederate victory come as easily as Lucas believed it would?
And even if the South won, wouldn't Lucas and Bran be considered traitors if
they ever returned to St. Louis? Leigh did not voice her questions, but they
loomed up, a barrier to the pleasant future she had envisioned for them all.
Without self-consciousness she went into Lucas's arms, seeking the reassurance
and comfort he had always given so freely. Her cheek was pressed against his
chest, and her hands were clamped tight behind his waist as she hugged him
fiercely and tried not to cry. How precious Lucas and Bran were to her, she
reflected as her tears spilled over, and how she loved them both.

After
a minute or two of silence, Lucas released her and turned her wet face up to
his. "Do you understand why we must go, Leigh?" he asked gently.

Mutely
she nodded and dabbed at her wet cheeks with a lace handkerchief. "Yes, I
understand. I guess I've known too that eventually you and Bran would have to
leave. I just didn't think it would be so soon."

Lucas
gave her a wry smile. "We didn't think we'd have to sneak away like
thieves in the night, either. I imagined we'd march out with flags and banners
waving, soldiers proud to offer their lives to the cause. But after all that's
happened..." He shrugged.

Brandon
had been standing nearby, his expression grave. "Come give me a hug for
luck, Leigh. We need to put a lot of miles behind us before nightfall."

She
went into his outstretched arms reluctantly, remembering all the times he'd
been her champion and confidant. He was closer to her than anyone except her
grandfather. "Oh, Bran," she whispered, "be careful!"

"I
will, Leigh."

"And
look after Lucas. It's you and I who have always been the sensible, steady
ones. Don't let him take foolish chances."

She
felt him nod against her hair. "Don't worry, Leigh, I will. And you'll see
that Aunt Felicity takes care of herself, won't you? I hate leaving her alone
in that big house. You know how frail she is."

Leigh
thought momentarily of the gentle little woman who had come to raise the two
Hale boys after their parents died. How hard this parting must be for her.

"I'll
go over after you leave to see if there's anything she needs," the girl
promised.

Bran
gave Leigh one last, hard hug, then stepped away. "I want to say good-bye
to your mother, too," he said, grinning one of his lopsided grins.
"Where will I find her?"

"I
think she's in the sitting room upstairs, Bran."

With
a final squeeze of her hand, he went, closing the parlor doors behind him so
Lucas and his fiancee could have a few minutes alone before parting.

He
was hardly out of the room before Lucas was beside her. "I'm sorry it has
to be this way, Leigh," he began. "I never thought I would be
marching off to war so soon after I asked you to marry me."

"Goodness,
Lucas, no one could have foreseen the tensions that have been building between
North and South for all these years would erupt into war now. All I ask is that
you be careful and come back to me whole and strong."

"I
will, Leigh. I'll be careful; I promise you. Just knowing you're waiting for me
will be incentive to end this war as quickly as possible. I'm just sorry it
will change our plans for the future."

"I
daresay there will be a great many things changed because of this war,"
she observed. Leigh glanced away for a moment, letting her eyes rest on an
ormolu figurine on the table beside them. "I think you should know,"
she continued, "that I intend to offer my services as a nurse at one of
the hospitals here in St. Louis. No matter how quickly this war is concluded,
there is bound to be fighting and men wounded—"

"You
can't be serious!" Lucas broke in. "My God, Leigh! No decent woman
nurses wounded men, much less an unmarried woman. Why, it's unthinkable!"

Her
usually pliant mouth hardened in an expression of determination that matched
his exactly. "Nevertheless, that's what I intend to do. My grandfather
trained me well, and there is bound to be a need for skilled people to care for
the sick and injured. Besides, you never objected when I assisted in
Grandfather's office."

"That
was entirely different, and then I had no right to protest," he pointed
out. "There's no telling what kind of men or wounds you would be expected
to tend. And besides, you would be offering aid to the enemy!"

"People
in pain have no loyalties, Lucas," she pleaded passionately. "Nor
could I think of someone in need as my enemy, no matter what his
politics."

"Damn
it, Leigh!" he thundered. "I don't intend for any fiancée of mine to
nurse in some stinking hospital."

"I
don't know that after today you'll be in any position to stop me!" she
countered and was immediately sorry for her defiance. Lucas was going to war,
and she did not want to spend their last few minutes together in dissent or
send him off in anger. Still, she did not intend to change her mind. She
paused, searching for the words to make him understand her need to act in a
time of crisis that would demand the energies of men and women alike. "Oh,
Lucas," she began again. "I always thought you understood what
medicine and using my skills to help others meant to me. Just as going south to
fight is something you must do, offering my skills to help the sick and wounded
is something I must do!"