The Lady and the Officer (28 page)

“You talk like a scholar. Did you study rhetoric at West Point?” She tried unsuccessfully not to laugh.

Without warning, he clasped her wrist. “I talk like a man in love. You may not share my sentiments right now, but I came here to make my intentions clear. Upon receiving your letter, I became the happiest man on earth. I don't plan to waste a single moment of our time together.” He released her as they stopped in front of a large, clapboard house.

“Is this where I'm staying tonight?” she asked, dazed by his confession. Her skin tingled where his hand had been.

“Yes. Go on inside, Madeline. Mrs. Lang is expecting you. I will join you for dinner in an hour. I have business to attend to at the telegraph office.” He handed her the valise, bowed, and turned on his heel.

As she climbed the steps to the boarding house, she couldn't help feeling a thrill of excitement and a spike of trepidation.

James strode back to the center of town at a lively pace. He knew that General Meade could court-martial him for his actions. He had been given no authority to ride away from the Union winter camp after placing his chief of staff in charge. Though engagement with the enemy was highly unlikely, even a corps commander needed permission to leave his post. But sometimes a man had to risk his career for something… or someone… this important. He never would have believed it before, but meeting Madeline had changed everything for him. Now he had but a few short hours to change everything for her.

In Culpeper he sent telegraph dispatches to General Meade and two other corps commanders sharing the same valley less than twenty miles away:
An urgent, unavoidable family emergency has occurred.
A stretch of the truth, if not an outright lie, but James couldn't dwell on his false witness at the moment. He needed to purchase flowers, a bottle of wine, another of cider, and perhaps a gift for his dinner guest. What did a man buy for the love of his life after she had traveled more than eighty miles, crossed enemy lines, and most likely severed relationships with her family to visit him?

Both the wine and cider were local brews. Regarding appropriate gifts for a lady, the shopkeeper who sold him the wine had only fabric and notions for sale. “I'm afraid there's not much call for fans, combs, or fancy baubles in these parts, sir.”

When James inquired about flowers for sale, she stared at him. “In February? Come back in April and I'll have my daughter pick you a handful.”

“Thank you, madam.” James paid the woman for the beverages and left quickly. He couldn't wait to return to the inn and change his shirt. This one was sticking to his back despite the frigid temperatures.

Half an hour later he headed downstairs to the parlor, where he hoped a delicious supper awaited them. He imagined long tapers casting a soft glow, a roaring fire on the hearth, and an elegantly appointed table with silver and china. What he found instead was a rickety table without a covering, a few stubby tallow candles, and mismatched plates and cups. But
at least a fire had been lit and the room was warm. James had little time to bemoan the arrangements.

Madeline came down the stairs and into the room a few moments later. “Oh, good, you're here. I feared I would be first to arrive. The innkeeper keeps watching me from the corner of her eye as though unsure of me. What exactly did you tell her?” She spoke in a soft whisper.

James felt heat rise into his face. “That you were my sister from the South, and that arranging a wartime visit had been difficult.”

“Your
sister
?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“I dared not make the presumption of calling you my betrothed, yet I didn't wish her to think poorly of your reputation.”

“I have no reputation in Culpeper, and I don't plan to establish one.” She settled gracefully on one of the wooden chairs and smiled up at him. “What are you hiding behind your back?”

James set the two homemade concoctions on the table. “A bottle of local wine and another of apple cider. You may have your choice.” Tugging down his waistcoat, he settled across from her. The table had a definite tilt to one side.

“You should know, brother dear, that I don't imbibe.” Madeline winked while fluffing out a patched cotton napkin.

“Of course, dear sister, but I thought you may have picked up a few bad habits in Richmond.”

Suddenly, the innkeeper marched in as though she had two flat feet, interrupting their repartee. “Here's your supper, General Downing, Miss Downing.” She angled a brief nod in Madeline's direction. “Hope it suits since food ain't exactly gourmet in these parts.” The woman set down a kettle of food all of the same shade of brownish red.

“What have we here, Mrs. Lang?” James peered at the dish with little enthusiasm.

“That there's beef, slowed-cooked with beets, tomatoes, and onions. All ends up the same color.” Mrs. Lang pulled a jar of green vegetables from her apron pocket. “These here are Brussels sprouts I pickled. Came out right fine, even if I do say so myself.”

James thanked her and then waited until she left before rolling his eyes. “I'm sorry, Madeline. I'd hoped for something a bit more… distinctive.”

Smiling, she ladled some of the concoction onto both plates. “Please don't worry about it. I'm a country girl. I used to cook stews like this all the time. However, I would have pickled the beets with the sprouts and not simmered them with shanks of beef.” She spooned the vegetables into small bowls and popped one miniature cabbage into her mouth.

“How is it?” he asked, picking up a fork.

“Delicious. Be not afraid.” Madeline sampled a bite of meat. “Even the beef is good, tender and well-seasoned.”

“Perhaps you're just hungry. As for me, I'm grateful the food is edible, but I had wanted to make this night memorable.”

“I didn't travel to Culpeper for the cuisine, James.” She looked him in the eye without hesitation.

Her comment stopped his nervous chatter. For several minutes they simply enjoyed Mrs. Lang's stew and pickled Brussels sprouts. After he got past the strange color, the taste wasn't bad. “Shall we try some cider then, dear sister?” He uncorked the odd-shaped bottle and filled both cups.

Madeline took a hearty swallow, and then her eyes grew round as an owl's. “Goodness! That cider has fermented into applejack.” She pressed her napkin to her mouth.

James hastily pulled the offensive bottle from the table. “Forgive me. I had no idea what she was selling me.”

Madeline moved her glass out of reach and folded her hands in her lap. “Of course you didn't. Seeing your uniform, she probably assumed you wished something stronger. I suggest you stop fretting and enjoy your supper. We can drink the well water Mrs. Lang provided and be grateful.” Unexpectedly, she reached for his hand. Her touch was electric beyond words.

“A wonderful idea. Beef with beets is starting to grow on me. Perhaps you could obtain the recipe before we leave.” James would have held hands throughout the meal, but she squeezed his fingers and then withdrew her hand and resumed eating. When they finished, they sat like old friends savoring a moment of tranquility. Outside a cold February wind blew and rain pelted the windowpane, but next to the fire they were warm and utterly content.

“Thank you for arranging the meal. That was very thoughtful of you,” she said, finally breaking the silence in the room.

“We have no music to dance to and I don't wish to read, despite the Langs' decent library.” He gestured toward a wall of books.

“What then do you have in mind, sir?”

Swallowing down what he truly wished to do, he pointed at a round table near the window. “I noticed the game had been set up when I arrived.”

Madeline pivoted around in her chair. “A chess board? But I don't know how to play.”

“All the better, because then I have all night to teach you.”

The next morning dawned sunny and clear. The rain was gone and a brisk breeze smelled of spring still weeks away. James washed and dressed in an austere guest room, eager to see Madeline. He hoped she wouldn't sleep too late. Last night's chess game hadn't yielded any new devotees, but it had provided hours to gaze on her lovely face and listen to the sound of her voice. Their time together was dwindling. Loping down the steps, he found the object of his affection calmly sipping coffee in the parlor.

“You're finally up,” she said. “I feared you would sleep all day.”

“
What
? Forgive me for keeping you waiting. You should have sent the innkeeper to knock on my door.” The more excuses he made, the more flustered he became.

She smiled like a naughty child. “I'm teasing you, James. I arrived mere moments before you.”

He crossed the room to the coffeepot on the table. “Your sense of humor will require a brief period of adjustment.”

“I read in one of Eugenia's periodicals that gentlemen prefer ladies who are unpredictable.”

“Then you, Mrs. Howard, will make me infinitely joyous.”

She blushed and pointed at the table. “Mrs. Lang put out corn muffins and fresh butter. And there's a bowl of what looks like corn chutney. I'm feeling as though I never left Aunt Clarisa's—corn, corn, and more corn.”

He lowered himself to a chair. “I assure you this feels nothing like winter camp for the Union Army.”

Madeline slathered a muffin with butter. “What plans do you have for us today?”

“How about a ride in the country? Not too far away. I don't want to run into my own pickets.”

“On horseback? It's still February.”

“The sun is shining and the day is mild. Besides, I have a surprise for you. Did you bring a riding habit?”

“I did.”

“Then finish eating and change your clothes. We'll see what kind of horseflesh awaits us in the barn, sister dear.”

Madeline finished her muffin in two bites, downed her coffee, and rose to her feet.

“But you didn't try Mrs. Lang's corn relish.” James lifted the glass jar.

“I'll save that pleasure for another time.” With a wink, she hurried from the room in a rustle of silk.

James stood at the mounting block holding the reins of his horse and a sleek mare when she appeared twenty minutes later. Madeline wore leather boots beneath her long skirt and a broad brimmed hat. Her hair hung in a single plait down her back. Although James expected her to be surprised, he didn't expect a flood of tears.

“Bo!” She threw her arms around the mare's neck. “Wherever did you find her, and what is she doing in Culpeper?”

“The cavalry quartermaster acquired her in Pennsylvania and recognized her as the same horse I came seeking after the first day's battle. He gave her to me for my personal mount, but I only allow trusted staff to ride her on short errands.”

Madeline lifted her foot into the stirrup and mounted with ease and grace. “Thank you, James. I won't ever forget this.” Grinning impishly, she shook the reins and took off down the street.

“But you so easily forget
me
?” he called after her. He swung up into the saddle, happy to finally return a jest in good measure.

When the road from Culpeper eventually turned into a narrow country lane, they headed across a meadow and then followed a rushing stream. Madeline, an accomplished equestrienne, had no trouble traversing the unfamiliar terrain. While they rode, the sun warmed their skin and not a
cloud marred the crystalline blue sky. James couldn't imagine a ride more singularly pleasurable.