The Lady and the Officer (20 page)

Eugenia's head snapped up. “All five days? I will never survive the stultifying boredom of sewing that long. I shall fall into a mortal faint from which there will be no recovery.” She dropped her fork into her poached egg.

“Very well, daughter. I will tell the guild you care not for our soldiers in the field, who don't have enough socks, mittens, or wool hats to prevent their freezing to death. The girls with compassionate hearts will be the ones planning this season's teas, soirees, and parties.” Aunt Clarisa sipped her coffee, never lifting her hawk-like gaze.

Madeline almost choked on laughter, while Eugenia's lips formed a perfect letter
O
. “I'm sorry, Mama, I spoke without thinking. Forgive me. I would be happy to sew with the ladies all week.” She swabbed egg yolk with her toast crust for a few moments, and then she asked, “Do you think we could host a ball over the holidays? It's been so long since anyone has had one.”

Her father cleared his throat from behind a copy of the
Richmond Times Dispatch
. He'd been so quiet that Madeline had forgotten he was there. “I think a ball would be inappropriate, daughter, considering how many of our friends are in deep mourning.”

“But life goes on, Papa. We must hold up our heads and survive. That's what Father Michael said during Mass this past week.”

Uncle John turned his patient brown eyes on his only child. “You've taken his words out of context, my dear. The priest meant we're not to wallow in despair or self-pity over our plight, but continue on the Christian path. Father Michael cares little about balls and cotillions.”

“But he didn't say we must stop living for the rest of the war.” Eugenia's tone turned desperate.

“Calm yourself, my dear,” said Aunt Clarisa. “Perhaps we could hold a low-key dance for the New Year. A few string musicians with Miss Graham at the piano. Nothing too showy or expensive.”

“Inexpensive would be a wise choice, wife.” Uncle John slanted a wry glance at her over his newspaper.

“Is there bad news in the
Times
?” she asked.

“Washington has declared the battles in October and November to be Union victories. I cannot see how that could be true if both armies hold the same ground as before the skirmishes. They are trying to tweak our noses to incite another rash move by General Lee.”

Madeline glanced around the table. In light of her recent activities, any war talk made her nervous. “Surely with the Advent season upon us there will be no further fighting.” She forced herself to eat a few bites of egg, wondering, as she had several times, whether the success of the Union forces was due to Lewis's information or hers. She felt heat climbing her neck and filling her face despite the meager fire in the hearth.

“Are you all right, Madeline? You look flushed.”

“I'm fine, Aunt. Perhaps I can assist Esther with the baking today. I would love to make oatmeal cookies to take to the guild.”

“With your sewing and baking talents, you are a godsend to our family. Have Eugenia join you in the kitchen. Perhaps one day she will need to do more than just give orders to staff.”

That afternoon, Madeline knitted and sewed until her fingers stiffened into clawlike positions. She sipped endless cups of weak tea, while elderly women bemoaned life without slaves, middle-aged women spread gossip about the unfortunate ladies unable to be there with them, and young women planned a Christmastide with as much social interaction as limited means would allow.

Pity the remaining bachelors in Richmond. If their battlefield wounds didn't kill them, surely the aggressive belles vying for their attention would.

Aunt Clarisa must have noticed her niece's waning interest in the conversation. “Lest you think all our activities are self-serving, Madeline, this Friday and every Friday until Christmas Eve we will be caroling on city
streets. Each church along our route will pass out cups of cocoa. Will you come along? Some of the men of the home guard usually join the fun.”

Madeline nodded. “I haven't caroled in years. That would be lovely. Thank you.”

“Splendid! If the home guard is invited, then Papa's staff will be there too.” Eugenia clapped her hands, drawing a frown from the guild's matriarch.

“We also pack food baskets with whatever can be spared,” continued Aunt Clarisa. “And distribute them to the poor on Christmas Day.”

“Our baskets grow ever leaner, but those in need become ever more abundant.” This sour observation was offered by a thin woman in unrelenting black.

Madeline smiled politely at the widow—a smile that would be repeated many times during the next four days of sewing.

By Friday she couldn't wait to go caroling. Walking the streets in the brisk air and raising her voice in songs of goodwill raised Madeline's spirits, as did the prospect of seeing Colonel Haywood. She'd grown fond of the man. His quick wit usually offset his somber demeanor. The Duncans were fond of him as well. According to her uncle, no other man connected to the war department worked more diligently. So it came as no surprise when her aunt announced that Colonel Haywood would join them for dinner before the Christmas outing.

Madeline was startled, however, to spot him in the dining room doorway while her aunt already had on her long fur wrapper and Uncle John wore his wool overcoat and top hat. “Has something happened?” she asked, midway down the stairs.

“Nothing to worry about, dear niece,” said Aunt Clarisa. “Father Michael invited us to dine at the rectory. He has parish business to discuss. I hope you don't mind serving as hostess tonight.”

“Not at all. Welcome, Colonel. I hope you've brought your singing voice as well as your appetite. Will any of the other guards be joining Eugenia and me for dinner?”

“Good evening, Mrs. Howard. No, I believe you're stuck listening solely to my tiresome repartee.”

Madeline offered him a gracious smile as she stepped off the staircase,
but then she stopped short in the dining room doorway. Only two places had been set at the elegantly appointed table, the chairs intimately close. With only half the normal number of candles burning, the illumination reflected off the crystal goblets was downright sparse. Inhaling deeply, Madeline turned to her aunt. “Why has no place been set for Eugenia? Surely Father Michael doesn't require her input on parish matters.”

Clarisa put an outrageously feathered hat atop her head. “Goodness, no. Major Penrod came by earlier to take Eugenia to supper at his private club. I believe she'll have a chance to meet the major's parents before they join the caroling at the Methodist church.”

“Perhaps you can post Micah as sentry if Mrs. Howard is uncomfortable dining alone,” Colonel Haywood said to Uncle John.

“That won't be necessary. I live in fear of no man. We'll see you at the Saint Patrick stop.” Madeline half curtsied to the Duncans and marched into the dining room.

“Good luck to you, sir,” said Uncle John. “Perhaps you'll be the one needing a sentry before the meal concludes.” Laughter followed him out the door.

Madeline waited for the Colonel to pull out her chair—a new habit she'd learned from her aunt. If she counted the times Tobias had helped her sit down, she would have all ten fingers left. “Considering the kindness you've shown me, I hope you'll forgive my confusion about tonight. I'm not very good with last-minute changes of plans.” She sat down primly.

“No apology necessary. Most ladies would be disconcerted to find themselves in a new role.” Haywood spread the linen napkin across his lap.

Madeline leaned back as Micah filled her goblet with lemonade. “Would you like a brandy, Colonel, or some other aperitif? I'm sure Micah knows where Uncle John keeps his spirits.”

“Brandies are for
after
a meal, and aperitifs, as the name implies, decidedly before. One drinks wine with the meal, madam.” He softened his lecture with a magnanimous smile.

Still, her cheeks tingled with embarrassment. “So it's a glass of wine you wish?”

“No, thank you. I prefer lemonade, the same as you.”

Madeline bit the inside of her cheeks until Micah finished filling the
colonel's goblet. Once the butler retreated from the room, she swiveled around to face him. “If you wanted lemonade, why not just say so? And what did you mean by
most
ladies? Are you implying I'm not like the rest of my gender?”

“Absolutely that was my implication, but it was intended as a compliment.”

Madeline swallowed and dabbed her lips. “Why would it be flattering to be told I'm odd?”

Colonel Haywood leaned back in his chair to study her. “Because most females live by an unwritten code that makes them complacent, predictable, and as intriguing as a herd of sheep. You, on the other hand, appear to follow no rules other than your own common sense. I find that laudable.”

“I hope I live by God's rules, sir.”

“Indeed, those happen to be the hardest to uphold.” He lifted his goblet in toast.

Suppressing a giggle, she clinked glasses with him.

“What has amused you, Mrs. Howard?”

She rang the bell for the butler, who appeared instantly. “Please bring all of the courses as soon as possible, Micah. We have no time to dillydally with supper. I don't wish to miss a minute of caroling.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Madeline waited until he left before answering the colonel's question. “Cows congregate in herds, sir. Sheep can be found in flocks. I'm amused you did not know that. For a man raised on a plantation, you know pitifully little about livestock.” She lifted her napkin to her mouth and laughed without restraint.

Being an oddity in society did have its advantages.

James was not a happy man. He surveyed the former cow pasture his soldiers were rapidly turning into a camp. Another winter spent in the field, his corps' third since their debacle at First Manassas. It would be another Christmas spent away from home, apart from their wives and
children, sweethearts and parents. Americans had spent three bloody years trying to kill one another—fathers against sons, sons against brothers. The state of Virginia was split in two because of opposing viewpoints. But each time James bowed his head in prayer, he no longer asked to prevail on the battlefield or that his men would vanquish their foes with swift precision.

Those fighting in butternut and gray seemed less like the enemy and more like scared young men with little keeping them warm and without enough to eat. Much like his own new recruits. Lately, James prayed for fair weather, meat free of maggots, bread without weevils, and a swift resolution to the conflict in the spring. Yet he would lead his men to the bitter end. Never one to issue orders from the rear, James knew any battle might be his last. Soldiering had been his life from his early days at West Point, to the Mexican War, to the territorial conflict with the Indians out West. That night, as his men lifted a scrap tin roof over the crude cabin that would be his home for the next five months, James sent up a second silent prayer—this one for Madeline.

His spies had told him she left Cashtown and traveled to Washington by train. At the war department she obtained a pass and crossed into Arlington County. As far as anyone could deduce, she'd reached the home of John Duncan, a well-regarded member of Jefferson Davis's administrative staff.

Great Scott, why couldn't her uncle be an ordinary farmer, eking out a living on thirty hardscrabble acres?
What danger would Madeline's political stance place her in? James hoped she would remain meek and submissive to her aunt, but considering how she'd ridden to his headquarters and demanded her horse back, he thought meekness from her was highly unlikely.

He had written her at least a dozen letters following the Gettysburg victory. Each letter had been painstakingly composed to avoid his illegible scrawl and then given to his adjutant to post in a variety of Maryland and Virginia towns. He instructed Major Henry to bribe postmasters if necessary to increase the likelihood of delivery. Yet he hadn't received a single letter in return. Not so much as
I must insist, sir, that you stop badgering me with your continual and unwelcome sentiments.

Had their brief acquaintance in Pennsylvania been sufficient to endear
him to her? Certainly, it had been so for him, but James had little experience with matters of the heart. A brief engagement back home had ended when a case of typhus took the young woman to heaven's gate. Mrs. Howard might be more knowledgeable about courting, but one thing was certain: Only death would keep him from finding her.