The Lady and the Officer (3 page)

With her heart pounding in her chest, Madeline bolted upright. The sound of a whinny lifted the tiny hairs on her neck. Someone was in her horse barn! She ran to the window and drew back gauzy curtains. Peering into the darkness, she could see nothing until the moon broke free from the clouds. Speechless, she watched as her prize-winning mares and new colts were led from the barn by several men.

What should I do? Grab Tobias's squirrel rifle from above the fireplace? Race outside and open fire on those who would pillage in the dead of night? Clad in my nightgown?

Instead, she did nothing. This time the thieves weren't the same marauding enemy who had stolen her chickens and milk cow. The men riding away with her beloved horse stock tethered to their mounts wore the blue uniforms and gold emblems of the U.S. Cavalry.

J
ULY
1

The next morning dawned hot and hazy, with acrid smoke hanging heavily in the air. Soldiers in every shade of blue, from the recently conscripted recruits to sage veterans, marched in both directions on the road. Horses pulled limbers of artillery and caches of ammunition, while farm wagons hauled food to a hungry army. White Conestoga wagons with red painted crosses carried the wounded from an early skirmish or boxes of medical supplies. Young couriers galloped down Taneytown Road at breakneck speed, perhaps with vital dispatches.

In the hectic fervor, few soldiers took notice of a woman heading toward town on the side of the road. Walking in ninety-degree heat through clouds of dust didn't put Madeline in the best of moods. She arrived at the parsonage on Hemlock Street three hours later perspiring and thirsty. No one answered her knock until she finally pounded relentlessly on the door.

“Mrs. Howard!” said an astonished Reverend Bennett. “What brings you back so soon? I told you to stay indoors today—”

“May I come in, sir? And perhaps trouble you for a glass of water?” Madeline leaned wearily against the door frame.

“Forgive me, my dear. Come in. Rest in the parlor while I get you something to drink.”

Madeline slumped onto a dainty embroidered chair and closed her eyes. The minister returned a few minutes later with a glass, a pitcher of chilled well water, and a plate of gingerbread cookies.

“Thank you.” She filled the glass, drank it down, and refilled it. “This isn't a social call. If I may, I would like to borrow one of your horses. I have urgent business in Gettysburg.” She pressed the glass to her forehead.

“Of course you may. But why not ride one of your fine Morgans?” Reverend Bennett asked, pushing the plate of cookies a bit closer to her.

“They were stolen. That is my business down the road.”

His face blanched with anxiety. “Goodness! That's awful, but you must not endanger your life because of horses. Soldiers are fighting down the
road. There is a battle right here in Adams County.” He whispered as though the enemy might lurk nearby.

Madeline straightened in the chair. “Those Morgans are all I have left. Please, Reverend, I've never asked you for anything before. I promise to return your horse safely.”

“I cannot refuse you, Mrs. Howard, although I strongly advise against pursuing this matter. I will saddle my gelding once the sound of artillery ceases.” He lifted his hand to forestall argument. “But I won't permit you to blunder into the fray. Rest for a few hours and refresh yourself. You can leave when it's quiet. It should be cooler by then too.” He pointed at the settee and left the room before she could object.

Madeline sat for several minutes. Then she devoured the plate of cookies and reclined on the couch. She'd intended to close her eyes just to rest them, but she awoke from a deep sleep to someone shaking her arm.

“My horse is saddled. Go with God, Mrs. Howard. I will pray for your safe return.”

Mumbling her thanks, Madeline left by the back door and easily swung up into the saddle. The sun was already low in the western sky. She reached the Chambersburg Pike within minutes at a gallop and then slowed her pace. At the outskirts of Gettysburg, she had no difficulty locating the headquarters of the Union Army's Fourth Corps. Her spirits lifted when she spotted a beehive of activity surrounding the vacated farmhouse. Confusion might allow her to enter unnoticed. Madeline sucked in a breath, set her jaw, and rode into the fenced yard, stopping at the hitching post.

A stout lieutenant shouldered his rifle and grabbed the gelding's bridle. “Hold up, miss. The Martins no longer live here. This house is army property now.”

“I'm well aware of that. I have business with General Downing. He's expecting me,” she lied. Madeline slid from the horse and marched up the front walk, leaving the lieutenant still holding the bridle. Determination got her as far as the open doorway.

Then the same wiry, arrogant major she'd met in her flower garden blocked her path. “I cannot allow you to enter, madam. You may state your business to me.” He spoke with obvious disdain for the intrusion.

“My business is that someone in this corps is a horse thief. My brood mares were stolen last night, and I expect redress from your commander.”

“If it's financial restitution you seek, that is a matter for the quartermaster. You'll not be troubling the general with—”

“It is not money I'm interested in, sir. I want my property returned.” Madeline fought to control her voice even as her courage flagged. Suddenly the partially open door swung further, startling woman and aide alike.

General Downing appeared as shocked to see her as the minister had been earlier. “Mrs. Howard, come in. I consider your visit a propitious omen.” He turned toward the other officer. “It's all right, Major. I will spare a moment to settle a civilian injustice.” He stepped to the side so that she could enter. Then he closed the door in the astonished major's face.

In an austere room smelling faintly of tobacco, Madeline's confidence vanished in a heartbeat. “You may not be pleased to see me once you hear me out.” She tucked several loose wisps of hair behind her ear. “General, all of my horses were stolen from my barn last night while
Union
troops were moving through Cashtown.” She paused to moisten her dry lips. “From my window I saw blue uniforms on the thieves. I can only surmise they were your soldiers.” Surreptitiously she glanced at the maps and drawings spread across the desk.

General Downing appeared to choose his words carefully. “ ‘Thief' is a harsh word that some may consider treasonous. Considering that your husband died fighting for this great nation, would you deny the army desperately needed replacement mounts? Our officers and cavalry require horses.” He dropped his voice to a murmur. “Today, there was a cavalry battle east of Gettysburg. Many good men died on the field. Many horses were lost as well. Everyone must make sacrifices in times of war.”

Madeline's stomach churned, but she forced herself to meet his gaze and swallowed hard. Then she continued with far less zeal. “I understand your predicament, General, but those horses are my only source of livelihood. Without them, I will be at the mercy of friends and neighbors this winter. But beyond my selfish desire to survive, I respectfully request that at least
one
of those horses be returned. Bo is a medium-sized, brown Morgan with a distinctive white blaze down her face. She was bred from the
best bloodlines in Pennsylvania. I hand-raised and trained her myself. You may keep the others as my contribution to the war, but please not Bo.” Her voice trailed off as she willed herself not to cry.

He reflected on her words for a long moment. Then, “If you would make yourself comfortable, madam, I will be only a minute.” He pointed at a chair and closed the office door behind him.

Madeline strained to hear what was being said through the solid maple, but the commotion outdoors masked all but the intensity of the general's discussion with the irritable major. She inhaled a breath to steady her nerves and perched on the edge of the straight-backed chair.

What an effect this man had on her. She felt as skittish as she had during her brief courtship with Tobias. She had never been one to be affected by a man's looks, yet her attraction to the officer was undeniable. Tall and broad shouldered, General Downing had thick dark hair that curled over his jacket collar. So dark they were almost black, his eyes transfixed a person with their intensity. He wore a meticulously neat uniform, distinguished, but with none of the flashy gold tassels seen in daguerreotypes. Yes, he was handsome, but his appeal stretched beyond physical attributes. He possessed some unseen quality—a magnetism that drew her like bees to nectar.

And she didn't like that one bit.

Madeline's woolgathering was abruptly curtailed by the door swinging open.

The general crossed the room in a few strides and then turned to face her. “I've sent word to the cavalry commander with Major Henry, my chief of staff. When the situation and time permits, he is to look into last night's
unauthorized acquisition
of civilian livestock, specifically for the horse you described. I cannot promise, but you have my word I will do my best to find Bo.” He bowed from the waist as though they had just been introduced socially.

Madeline leaned back from his close proximity. “Thank you, General. I'm sure your
best
will be more than adequate. It's truly more than I expected. Good day.” In her haste to leave, she knocked over the chair she'd been sitting in. If she had paused to pick it up, she might have recovered enough composure to make a graceful exit. But when she noticed the
deep wrinkles around his eyes and the smile tugging at his lips, she fled from the room like a startled rabbit.

He is laughing at my clumsiness!

She saw that the young lieutenant was still holding Reverend Bennett's horse when she reached the porch. Madeline swiftly crossed the dusty yard, mounted, and rode home as though the entire Rebel cavalry was breathing down her neck.

James Downing had seen pain and suffering without measure during the past two years. He had witnessed deprivations of every sort in both civilians and soldiers alike. Yet something in Mrs. Howard's tender plea for a beloved horse tore at his soul. From his window he'd watched her disappear into a cloud of dust on the road with her bonnet ribbons streaming behind her. His intrigue with the perplexing woman went beyond a pretty face and comely figure. Was it small-town living that had preserved her sincerity and innocence? Why else would she worry about ruined flowers when the eastern theater of war had arrived at her doorstep? Yet she possessed enough spunk to ride into chaos to rectify an injustice.

He allowed himself one long, delicious moment to stare after her before turning back to his duties.
Great Scott, did I just agree to find a blasted horse in the middle of an engagement?
But before he slept that night, he would endeavor to keep his promise. If he had it to do over, he would agree to that and more. And the realization that Mrs. Howard had such power over him didn't sit well. Closing his eyes, his brain etched a picture of her face to carry into battle tomorrow. With creamy skin dusted with freckles, wavy hair the color of ripe wheat, and blue eyes that flashed in amusement or pique, Madeline Howard would be a hard woman to forget. He'd been smitten the first time he saw her on the road to Cashtown, and he would remember her long after he moved his corps to the next battlefront.

Her long limbs had moved gracefully beneath the cotton dress in her woebegone garden. Considering the fierce look on her face, his staff thought they had met the enemy sooner than anticipated. Never in his life
had an upbraiding been so pleasurable. The moment she marched from her house, he lost his entire train of thought, having no idea what they had been discussing. And when he glanced back over his shoulder, he thought the window curtains had parted an inch. Had Mrs. Howard been peeking from between the lace panels? If he thought so enchanting a woman could be interested in him, he had indeed gone mad.