“Too late for what?” His father asked.
“Why should Van der Geld assist me?”
“Because he wants the votes you will bring.”
“And what will the voters think of me when they learn of my association with John Wilkes Booth?”
“There’s no reason they have to know. Should the provost marshal uncover anything, Van der Geld would be able to keep it under wraps. Appearances will be maintained, and that is all that matters.”
It was one of the most presumptuous statements Henry had ever heard, but before he could say so, his father reminded him, “You must remember your nieces.”
My nieces. Your grandchildren. Did the man even know their names?
“Do you want them growing up openly shunned as wards of a coconspirator?”
Henry’s stomach roiled. No, of course not, and he didn’t want them growing up as wards of the state, either, which he was certain they would become if his father gained control over them.
“Forward,” his father said. “Forward is the only way. I’ll tell the messenger you will attend.” And with that, the man left the room.
As the appointed hour approached, Henry shaved and put on his nicest vest and coat. He even went to the garden in search of a proper bouquet of flowers. Deciding, though, that his crop fell far below a lady’s standard, he stopped at the florist before heading to the Van der Geld home. Knowing red roses would be insincere, he chose a pale pink bouquet. He hoped his fiancée would like it.
An anxiety far different than what he’d felt upon reading the recent newspapers washed over him as he rang the Van der Geld’s bell. Henry had just enough time to give his collar a tug when a white-gloved butler opened the door. The man took Henry’s topper, then ushered him into a formal parlor, where the state legislator, his family and several other male guests were waiting. Miss Van der Geld was in the corner opposite her father. She blushed the moment she saw Henry.
Something inside him stirred.
I will not allow her heart to be broken. I will make this work. This may not be the life I wished for, but I will never let her know that. She wants love. I will do my best to give it to her. I will do my best to make her happy. If she is happy, Grace and Kathleen will be, as well.
After acknowledging her parents’ hospitality he walked toward her. “Good evening, Rebekah.”
Her blush darkened. Although apparently unsettled by the sudden familiarity, she followed suit. “And to you, H-henry.”
When he handed her the flowers, a look of surprise, of genuine pleasure, filled her face.
“Oh, how kind of you,” she said with a smile. Snuggling the roses close, she breathed in their scent, just as Kathleen had done with her jonquils. “Pink is my favorite color.”
He told himself to remember that piece of information, then offered what he hoped was a steady smile in return. “I’m pleased that you approve.”
The brief act of courtship was quickly brushed aside, for her father then promptly steered Henry toward his other guests. What Henry had hoped would be a simple family supper appeared now to be anything but. Among Van der Geld’s visitors was a reporter from the Baltimore Sun, an assistant state’s attorney and Colonel John Woolley, chief marshal from the provost department.
The moment Henry recognized Detective Smith’s superior officer, he couldn’t help but think he had just stepped into a trap.
* * *
At her mother’s insistence, Rebekah’s pink roses were quickly whisked away, but not before she instructed her to pin one to her bodice.
“You’ll want to show him you appreciate his gift,” Susan whispered.
In truth, Rebekah was touched by the councilman’s gesture. No man had ever brought her flowers before, and the joy she felt at being presented with such a lovely bouquet stirred her heart. Fear and a host of other emotions, however, kept those feelings in check. Henry Nash appeared to be a kind and considerate man, but she knew for a fact there was another side to him—a forceful one. She had seen it firsthand.
That day at the Merchant’s Exchange, he had pulled her into his arms. It had been for her protection, yes, but his way of providing it was as frightening to her as the raucous crowd. Rebekah had never been so near a man before, except during her time as a nurse, and those men had been either feeble bodied or unsettled in the mind. Henry Nash had been close enough that she could smell the soap powder on his clothing, feel his labored breathing. His hands upon her arms were strong, overpowering.
Will he display further strength if I displease him?
Fear prickled her skin. For twenty-three years, she had been trying to please her father. The harder she tried to live up to his expectations, however, the less her father seemed to approve of her. More than once he had told her that she was inept and had no natural beauty. Rebekah told herself that physical beauty was not an attribute for which to strive, but she desperately wanted to be seen as lovely, to be dear enough to be beautiful to someone.
And my temperament is hopelessly flawed. She tried to be sweet, demure and obedient, but deep inside her, fiery opinions burned. They dared not flame in her father’s presence, but they had elsewhere. Damaged relationships with her friends were only one example.
At the beginning of the war, Julia and the others in their sewing circle had all supported secession. Rebekah made it perfectly clear to them that she thought that position traitorous. It caused quite a rift in their relationship. It wasn’t until Rebekah took time to understand their point of view that the friendships began to mend. The girls were sympathetic to the South not because they wished for disunion or the continuation of slavery but because their brothers had chosen to fight for that side in defense of states’ rights.
Though she could never fully agree with their support, she could at least feel sympathy toward them. She witnessed the high cost of war when Sally’s brother, Stephen, was killed in battle; Julia’s brother, Edward, turned up in the hospital severely wounded and half out of his mind with grief; and Elizabeth’s brother, George, was taken prisoner.
And Henry Nash lost his brother-in-law, his nieces their father...
She thought then of that day at the soldiers’ memorial service. How proud little Kathleen had looked when Rebekah had given her those flowers. Henry had thanked her for doing so, as if he knew exactly how much it would mean to the little girl.
Any man who pays such attention to a child cannot be like my father... I must remember that.
He had been kind to Joseph tonight, as well. When Henry had greeted her youngest brother, he bent down to his level, shook the boy’s hand in a most grown-up fashion and tousled his hair.
The greeting had made quite an impression on Joseph. Even now the child was watching him intently.
“I like that man,” he whispered to Rebekah.
The conflict inside her intensified. She watched from across the room as Henry spoke with her father and the other gentlemen. As a city councilman, he was surely accustomed to making speeches and working with high-ranking officials of the state, yet Rebekah couldn’t help but notice that tonight he seemed rather nervous. Why? He had already won her father’s approval.
Does he seek mine? The thought brought a tingle to her cheeks.
When dinner was announced, Henry returned to escort her to the dining room. To Rebekah’s surprise, they were seated together at the midsection of the table, which was a much higher position than she had ever claimed before. Her younger brothers, even Joseph, always outranked her in proximity to her father and the invited guests.
Rebekah now felt an excitement so strong it made her hands tremble. Half had to do with the favor her father had just bestowed upon her. The other was the gentle kindness with which her fiancé was attending her. Henry assisted her with her chair, then claimed his seat beside her. Colonel Woolley was across from them.
/> “I’ve just been telling Councilman Nash how fortunate he is in marrying a lady as lovely and as gracious as yourself,” he said to her.
The compliment made her blush, and she thanked him for it. As appreciative as she was of the colonel’s words, Rebekah couldn’t help but wonder what the councilman had said to him in return. Did he think she was lovely and gracious? Would he ever tell her so?
Her father quickly commandeered the conversation. The subject was the national scene. “Pendergast,” he said, addressing the newspaper man to his left, “are you as concerned over the ability to implement President Lincoln’s peace policies as I?”
“Indeed,” the man said, “I wonder now if there can even be a lasting peace. There are many who see the assassination as a call for the renewal of war.”
“I can tell you,” her father said, “President Johnson isn’t happy about having to abide by Lincoln’s plans for reconstruction.”
“He promised he would honor the late president’s wishes,” Colonel Woolley said.
“Well, he had better keep his eyes open,” Theodore insisted. “A country can be lulled by promises of peace, yet still be at war.”
Rebekah listened quietly. She had her own opinions on the subject but did not dare share them with this audience, even though for once she actually agreed with her father. While she did not believe the average rebel soldier sanctioned the president’s murder, she’d overheard enough men in her own state say they would rather die by their swords than suffer defeat.
Will the Confederate leadership follow the terms of surrender, or will they now fight this war in a different, even more horrendous way? Is Lincoln’s death only the first?
Apparently her fiancé thought differently. “Lee did surrender,” he reminded them. “Once Booth is caught and tried, things will quiet down. No one wants a return to war.”
At that, her father laughed. “Don’t be so certain. The list of conspirators is growing longer every day. There are plenty of men who hated Lincoln enough to want him dead. The elections prove that.”
Rebekah wouldn’t go that far. There were plenty of people who had voted against Lincoln, but for various reasons.
“I grant you, sir,” Henry said, “there were accomplices to Booth’s crime, but I would caution our leadership to be careful. Not every man who voted against our late president wished him dead.”
Well said, Rebekah thought. That is one opinion we share.
But her father, joined now by the state’s attorney, only laughed.
“And that, Theodore,” the lawyer said, “is why you are wise in claiming this man to be your son-in-law. You’ve got to keep the other side’s opinions in mind if you want to win the governorship.”
Rebekah’s cheeks burned. The men were now chuckling, all except for her fiancé. Rebekah wondered what Henry would say or do now. Would he grow angry? Part of her wanted him to put her father in his place. The other part feared he would do just that. However, the man had no time to respond.
At that moment the butler stepped into the room. On his heels was a soldier. “Excuse me, sir,” Stevens said to her father, “but this man has a message for the colonel.”
The soldier stepped forward and delivered the missive.
After reading it, Colonel Woolley replied, “Very good,” and he then dismissed the man. “Well, gentlemen,” he said to those around the table. “We shall see if Councilman Nash’s opinion of our future proves true.”
“How is that?” Her father asked.
Woolley’s chest seemed to swell with pride. “The United States Army cornered John Wilkes Booth in a barn in northern Virginia. One of the sergeants shot him. He is dead.”
Rebekah saw a flicker of emotion pass over Henry’s face, but she wasn’t able to distinguish exactly which one it was. It didn’t seem to be relief, which was what she felt. She was thankful the president’s murderer had been stopped. Now he could harm no one else. It wasn’t triumph, either, which was the look her father’s face clearly bore.
“Was Booth alone when they took him?” Theodore asked.
“No,” Colonel Woolley replied. “He had an accomplice, but at least the scoundrel had the sense to surrender.”
“Then there is information to be had,” said her father.
“Indeed,” said Mr. Pendergast, “and likely more conspirators to be found.”
Now Rebekah recognized the look on her fiancé’s face. It was one of fear, but why exactly it was there, she could not say.
* * *
“More conspirators to be found...” Henry’s chest was so tight he could barely breathe. John Wilkes Booth is dead and President Lincoln is about to be laid to rest. Will the nation’s strife be buried with them, or is there another storm on the horizon, one that will consume not only my country but also my household?
He could feel Rebekah’s eyes upon him. He knew his face was betraying his fears. Her father confirmed it, though he seemed to misinterpret the cause.
“Cheer up, Councilman. Booth might have met his judgment, but there are still plenty of others to be questioned. The extent of this web of evil will be exposed. The truth will be revealed.”
“I hope the rule of law will be upheld,” Henry replied as neutrally as he could.
“Hear, hear,” said the state’s attorney, lifting his glass.
“Of course it will,” Van der Geld said. “I have every faith in our national leadership.”
The call to confess again beckoned, but Henry knew here was not the place. Rebekah would be mortified. Colonel Woolley, who had been so complimentary before, would surely arrest him on the spot—if not for his conspiratorial associations, then for tarnishing her reputation.
And what of Grace and Kathleen?
Dessert was served. Henry tried his best to swallow it. Afterward, the party returned to the parlor. Henry chose a seat close to Rebekah and as far away from her father and the other men as possible. She clearly looked troubled.
Is that due to my reaction at the table or something else?
He saw tonight the way this particular household operated. Theodore Van der Geld placed low value on the presence of ladies. His own wife seemed little more than a shadow, never opening her mouth unless it was to offer refreshments to one of the guests or answer affirmatively when her husband issued some sort of command. Rebekah had been ignored practically altogether. Henry had wished to engage her, but her father’s control over the conversation made it difficult for anyone to venture to a new subject.
Is she starved for attention, for affection?
His own mother had been that way, and Henry had watched her slowly wither away into silence. He believed that somewhere inside Rebekah lay a woman of strength, but how long would that strength remain?
“You weren’t offered much opportunity to speak earlier,” he said. “Is there a particular topic of interest you would like to discuss?”
She blinked in surprise, then stole a glance at her father. Henry followed her eyes. Van der Geld appeared to be watching them both. Rebekah looked back at Henry. Fear now flickered across her face.
“What topic would suit you?” she asked.
Henry leaned forward, his words meant only for the two of them. “Come now,” he encouraged. “You must tell me something of your preferences, or how are we ever to hold a conversation?”
A flush crept into her cheeks, and a smile, one she seemed almost determined not to give, tugged at her mouth.
She is pretty, he thought.
“I am interested in the full citizenship of former slaves,” she then said.
He blinked. He wasn’t exactly expecting that, but the topic was of interest to him, as well. “Did you support giving them the right to vote?”
“Oh, yes, but I believe more is needed.”
“Indeed? Such as?
”
“Education. There is little opportunity for them to better themselves. Something must be done.”
She spoke her mind firmly. He admired that. “I couldn’t agree more. The council is looking to improve education opportunities for the local freedman, at the very least basic reading and writing skills, but so far there is a shortage of willing teachers.”
“I see.” Rebekah’s boldness vanished the moment her father came toward them. She immediately looked down at her lap, as if she’d been caught in some sinful act.
“Rebekah, I hope you aren’t boring the councilman with frivolous talk,” he said.
“Not at all,” Henry said in her defense. “We were just discussing the education of freedmen.”
Van der Geld’s eyes widened, as if he couldn’t believe his daughter capable of sustaining an intelligent conversation. He looked back at her. “Well, you’ve had your amusement. Your mother needs your help serving the coffee.”
She immediately rose. Her father then tried to assert his authority over Henry. “Come, Councilman. I’m certain you’ll find the conversation on this side of the room much more to your liking.”
He knew what kind of conversation it would be. Henry didn’t wish to continue discussing the potential renewal of war, nor the conspirators who might still be roaming the Maryland countryside.
“I assure you, Delegate, I thoroughly enjoyed your daughter’s conversation, but...now I must be going.”
To his surprise, Van der Geld did not argue. Henry didn’t know if that was a sign of respect or suspicion. Would the man be discussing him with the provost marshal once he was gone?
He cast a glance in Rebekah’s direction. She was silently refilling the cups of her father’s guests. He nodded to her, she to him. There was an understated elegance about her that he was only now beginning to notice. And her long brown hair, curled and plaited tonight, is indeed lovely.
But growing attraction aside, Henry knew their life together would be difficult. He could determine to care and provide for her, but if the fear of being named a coconspirator in treason remained a motivating factor, how effective a husband, a father to Kathleen and Grace, could he actually be?
The Reluctant Bridegroom Page 7
