The Lady and the Officer (17 page)

“That's all I ask. Thank you so much, cousin. I thank God each night that you moved to Richmond.” Eugenia kissed both of Madeline's cheeks and squeezed her hard.

N
OVEMBER
1863

Colonel Elliott Haywood dressed carefully in the better of his two uniforms. He had been given the second uniform when assigned to Richmond's beleaguered home guard. The new government expanded Richmond's local militia after the capital had been moved from Montgomery in the early months of the war. The home guard protected not only President Davis and his family, but the entire war department staff, the Confederate Treasury, and the state department, besides the ordnance and munitions depots. The number of men under Elliott's command had fluctuated greatly during the past few months. Enlisted men and officers had been called away to support other campaigns due to a chronic shortage of both, but as federal troops advanced closer to Richmond, men were quickly recruited to swell the home guard's ranks. His office also directed the tide of dispatches flowing between Richmond and Fredericksburg. Elliott often made the trip himself because many under his command were unable to ride due to wounds or other infirmities. Determined to still be of service, these loyal soldiers stood guard at various offices and processed the endless blizzard of military paperwork. Able-bodied staff members not needed for courier duty acted as President Davis's personal bodyguards.

Elliott was considered accomplished among his peers, even though his education consisted only of one local grammar school and brief terms
with a tutor. As the fourth of five children and the youngest son of a cotton planter, his father had little regard for higher education. He sent his eldest two sons north to college, yet neither of Elliott's brothers had distinguished himself in the academic world. When he came of age, a career in the military appeared his best option. Years of poor harvests, low prices for cotton, and general mismanagement had sent their plantation into a downward spiral. The Haywood family's once impressive fortune had dwindled well before the onset of war.

Charles Haywood, never much of a businessman, invested what he had left in Confederate bonds, staking everything on the Confederacy. Elliott's father had already turned the day-to-day operations over to his third son, a dissipated man unfit for military duty. Robert's physical condition proved to be a blessing when the eldest sons were killed days apart at the battles of Frazier's Farm and Malvern Hill. When his father received the letters, unfortunately arriving the same day, his interest in the plantation ceased and he remained mildly drunk from then on.

Elliott's mother died of yellow fever when he was ten years old, along with his four-year-old sister. He could remember his mother walking the length of the second-floor gallery in the morning, her skirts billowing behind her. Whenever she spotted him playing in the garden, she would wave her lace-gloved hand. His mother, never a strong woman, had spent most days in her room, venturing downstairs only for dinner. Elliott and his sister had been fed in the kitchen by their nanny. His faded memory of the woman who bore him was a wren-like creature with fair hair and tiny hands. She addressed her husband as Mr. Haywood, instead of Charles. Elliott had never once heard her raise her voice.

By contrast, his baby sister was a bumblebee who ran as soon as she learned to walk and knocked over anything in her path whenever she was out of her nurse's eye. Elliott had grieved when his father carried down the tiny, linen-wrapped bundle for the funeral wake. His father looked as though his heart would break. Two days later, his mother was gone too.

Colonel Haywood squeezed his eyes shut to force away painful memories. He was a grown man. All of that was long past. Before Elliott's enlistment, his father secured a position for him as an apprentice to a cotton factor. Having no sons of his own, the elderly gentleman took Elliott
under his wing and trained him in the savvy business. Mr. Lowe invited Elliott to live above the carriage house behind his opulent Savannah townhouse, treating him like family. In Savannah, Elliott learned to broker commodities with finesse, and more importantly, he established the necessary connections to conduct business in the old South. Elliott seldom went home to the plantation in the years preceding the war, vastly preferring the lifestyle offered by Mr. Lowe.

Now that life was behind him as well. Since enlisting in the Confederate Army more than two years ago, he'd heard nothing from Mr. and Mrs. Lowe of Savannah. The federal blockade along the coast prevented cotton from leaving eastern seaports. With farmers fighting for the Cause and the slaves run off, almost no cotton grew in Georgia anymore. What kind of job—what kind of world—would be left when the war finally ended?

The only thing intriguing Elliott these days was a tall, lovely Yankee, unlike any woman he had ever known. Forthright and direct, Mrs. Howard thought logically and spoke her mind without affectation or pretense. Unafraid of hard work, she demonstrated more courage than any delicate Southern belle. Society ladies were accustomed to being taken care of. They had done little for themselves before the war and resented having their luxuries taken from them now. Mrs. Howard's independent spirit appealed to him more than false graciousness and social artifice.

Elliott adjusted his tie, took a final look in the mirror, and hurried downstairs, grabbing his hat on his way out the door. As commander of the Richmond home guard, the Confederacy paid for his suite of rooms in a fashionable but shabby hotel on the west side of town, although actual pay envelopes were few and far between these days. It had been weeks since he had dined with the Duncans, yet he hadn't forgotten his offer to accompany Mrs. Howard to church. Today he wouldn't allow war business to interfere with his well-laid plans. Stopping in the hotel kitchen to pick up the hamper he ordered, Elliott set off toward Forsythia Lane. He had borrowed a carriage from a merchant and would reward him for his generosity with free labor, courtesy of the guards. Everything had its price in wartime Richmond.

Mrs. Howard was descending the steps of the Duncan mansion as he
reached the carriage block. “Good morning, Mrs. Howard. What a coincidence. I'm on my way to St. Paul's Episcopal for services. Would you care to join me?” He offered her his best smile.

“I'm not sure that this is a coincidence, Colonel. However, I won't question your word on the Sabbath.” A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I have a feeling my aunt had a hand in this.”

“She may have suggested the possibility to me.” He extended his hand to her.

Mrs. Howard swayed as though in mental turmoil. “I'm not sure I should cram into your family's pew and make others uncomfortable. Perhaps I'll enter the sanctuary alone and sit in the back.”

“Nonsense. You will crowd no one. My grandparents have passed on and my father and brother no longer drive in from the country for the weekend. You would make a lonely man less so for a brief interval because I usually sit by myself.”

After reflecting a moment more, Mrs. Howard took his hand and climbed up beside him. “Very well, I shall ride with you. My uncle described the length of the walk, and I feared these slippers wouldn't hold up well.” She lifted her skirt an inch to reveal her footwear—something no Southern lady would ever do.

Elliott bit back his impulse to laugh. “Those won't be suitable for our sloppy winters. You and Miss Duncan will need to go shopping.”

Mrs. Howard chose to ignore his advice and made polite conversation about the weather and changes to the Duncan garden along the way. When they arrived in front of the church, her banter stopped. “Goodness, I hadn't expected so grand a cathedral. I'm used to small country churches that also serve as the schoolhouse and town hall.”

“I hope you'll find the message as inspiring as the edifice,” Elliott said, offering her his elbow as they climbed the long flight of stone steps.

One and half hours later, if her grin and the volume of her singing were any indication, Mrs. Howard had enjoyed the service immensely. After they paused to greet the pastor on the way out, she practically skipped down the steps.

“That was lovely,” she said. “Although my aunt's church is beautiful
beyond description, I can't understand a word of their Mass in Latin. Thank you, sir, for inviting me.”

“I apologize for our minister's plea to be generous to the Cause in the offering plate. Funds are short, I daresay.”

“No apology necessary, Colonel. I dropped what few coins I could spare in the poor box by the door.”

“Resourcefulness, thy name is woman.” Elliott took her arm on their way to the hired carriage.

“I'm determined to let nothing dampen my good mood on such a glorious day.”

For several minutes they rode along in companionable silence, enjoying the warm sun on their back and the cool breeze on their face. Suddenly, she swiveled on the seat. “Shouldn't we have taken Grace Street to return to my uncle's, or am I confused? The houses are becoming sparser instead of more closely spaced.”

“You're very observant, Mrs. Howard. If your uncle's home was our intended destination, we are indeed going in the wrong direction.” He shook the reins to hasten their progress.

“I'd prefer you take me home, Colonel. I don't wish to worry the Duncans regarding my whereabouts.”

“We're merely taking a short drive. There's something I wish you to see. Your uncle and aunt won't worry for your safety in my company.”

“May I at least know where we are headed?” She turned her neck in both directions.

“To the prettiest view in Richmond, my favorite spot. It's not far, I assure you.” After another mile, they turned off Idlewood Drive onto Cherry Street and rattled over rough stones through an open gate. A carved wooden sign indicated they entered the hallowed grounds of Hollywood Cemetery.

“You've brought me to a cemetery? Do you have relatives you wish to pay your respects to?” She lowered her voice to a whisper.

“I do have relatives buried here, but they are not why we've come. I want you to see a place that holds much of Richmond's history since the Revolutionary War.”

Cobblestone paths had been laid out just wide enough for a carriage to pass in between stately old trees. Massive oaks, walnuts, and sycamores provided ample shade, while holly trees were massed with plump red berries. Verdant rhododendrons, mountain laurel, and crabapple had set their buds for the first warm days of spring months away. Acres of rolling hills had been divided into private family plots by low stone walls. Graves were well spaced and well marked.

“It is beautiful here.” She peered from side to side at the impressive grounds. “I'm sure it would be lovely in winter.”

Elliott chose the narrow lane that followed a cliff-like ridge of land, stopping the horse in front of a large crypt. “Our first stop,” he announced. “President James Monroe, our fifth president and last president who was a founding father of the United States. He was a planter born in Westmoreland County, Virginia, and died on Independence Day in 1831. Ironic, no?”

“Truly, but at least he was laid to rest in a beautiful place. Look, someone recently visited his grave.” Mrs. Howard pointed at a wreath of red flowers. White pearly seeds still clung to the dried boughs.

“There is plenty of history here—Virginia's history.” With a click of his tongue, the carriage began to roll. Elliott halted a second time before a vast expanse of wind-blown acreage at the extreme end of the property. “Up on that hill they plan to rebury our boys who died at Gettysburg. So many young men on both sides. They intend to dig up the bodies and bring them home to Virginia soil. Your government doesn't want Rebs in their new cemetery, and the families don't want their sons spending eternity up North.”

Mrs. Howard stared into the distance, her words floating on the breeze. “Where they spend eternity is up to their Maker.”

“Well said, madam. We just left church, and I had already forgotten myself. ”

“I didn't know that about the new Gettysburg cemetery, Colonel. I'm saddened and a little ashamed that the gray-clad soldiers who died wouldn't be welcomed in hallowed ground. In death, our earthly battles are over.”

“Ah, it's nasty business on both sides. Let's move on. I have one more site to show you.” Elliott chewed the inside of his mouth in frustration. Why had he brought up the subject of Gettysburg with the woman who had saved his life? He released the brake and the carriage continued along the narrow road.