by Tara Johnson
Gingerly resting her weight on the mattress, Cassie reached for Granny’s blue-veined hands, her heart sinking when they made no response. “Granny, it’s Cassie.”
Granny’s eyes flickered over her face, yet no traces of recognition sparked. Cassie’s heart sank low in her chest. She forced down the lump threatening to choke her. “Can she speak?”
Jane sighed. “No. Only garbled words. But I talk to her. Read to her. She can drink and eat, but only if the food is mashed up. Everything must be done for her. And with Father gone—”
“Father? Gone?”
Jane’s brows rose. “Of course you wouldn’t know.” She straightened. “Father wed Mary Dunn months ago. They moved away almost immediately.”
“How far?”
Jane shook her head. “Don’t know. Joe heard they aimed to set out for Minnesota.”
Cassie reached for the bedpost to steady her suddenly dizzy head. Father was gone. He could no longer hurt or threaten. And she was beginning to feel free of the bitterness that had tainted too much of her life.
Cassie looked up and caught her sister’s gaze. The poor woman was exhausted. “I’m home now. You can’t continue this. You have your own family to care for. I’ll take care of her.”
Jane’s brows pinched. “But you do as well. Eliza told us about your husband, the photographer. What about him?”
Cassie sighed. “There is much I must explain. . . .”
Chapter 41
OCTOBER 10, 1863
WASHINGTON, DC
Cassie descended from the stagecoach and coughed, waving away the dust that swirled around her as the conveyance dipped and swayed. A far cry from the knee-deep mud she’d marched through during her last visit to the capital. Then again, much had changed. Not just the weather. The thought made her smile.
The clop of horses and the rattle of buggies swarmed around her, choking the busy roads of Washington.
“Here you go, miss.”
Glancing upward, she smiled at the driver, who handed down her large carpetbag. “Thank you.”
He nodded, eyes twinkling, yet his handlebar mustache drooped only seconds later, his concern evident. “You sure you’re okay, miss? You know where you’re going?”
“Perfectly sure, thank you.”
“The capital is not a safe place for a lovely woman on her own.”
His praise caused her cheeks to warm, yet a giggle threatened to erupt. She longed to burst out with some quip about a sharpshooter for the Union being able to defend herself but held her tongue.
“I’ll be careful. Thank you.”
With a tip of his hat, he clucked his tongue and the stagecoach lurched forward. She watched it go, but her mind was on the destination only blocks away. The Brady Gallery.
Her buttoned boots clicked sharply against the street as she tried to suppress the nausea rising in her stomach. She pushed her way through the throng of people crowding the street. Hawkers called out their wares. Senators and representatives smoked cigars in their black suits as they conspired in tight huddles around the government buildings. Women in feathered hats and the latest fashions strolled past the buildings, walking as fast as they dared toward the shopping district.
Granny, can you see me? I’m trying.
Granny Ardie had been gone two months, yet Cassie found herself talking to her frequently. She supposed it had become a habit while caring for the ailing woman since last fall. Only Providence knew if the stream of chatter had helped, but in her heart, Cassie felt her grandmother had clung to her words, even if her broken body could not respond in kind.
She’d talked to her about everything—shared her thoughts and feelings, told her about all her experiences during the war, read to her from the Bible as well as every scrap of news she could squeeze from the papers. She’d gobbled up every newsprint in the county, religiously following any information she could gather on the war: troop movement; the death of the Confederates’ Stonewall Jackson; General McClellan being replaced by General Burnside, who was replaced by General Hooker, who was then replaced by General Meade; the bloody battle of Gettysburg and many other battles besides.
She was relieved she was no longer dodging shot and shell as her friends were blown apart. No longer witnessing dying men wheeze out their last breaths. Yet as she lay in the darkness of her room each night, she could still hear every sound of battle: the shouts, the patterns of the drums, the timbres of each distinct voice. On particularly difficult nights, she could hear Jonah’s laughter. Could see his eyes dancing with some new mischief. But it wasn’t Jonah that hovered in every memory. Mostly she couldn’t escape him.
Thoughts of Gabe filled every waking moment and sometimes her dreams as well.
After Granny had passed to glory, leaving Cassie strangely alone and aimless in the cabin, she’d been scouring the Washington Star when the announcement of a Brady Gallery “War View” photographic display caught her attention. It was not Brady’s photographs that would be displayed, however, but those of his field photographers. Among the names listed, one leapt off the page, causing her heart to thud painfully in her chest. Gabriel Avery.
“Watch out!”
Jerking from her muddled thoughts, she looked up in time to dodge a horse that nearly ran her down, the driver uttering a slew of curses. She pressed her hand against her stomach, willing the butterflies to calm. She was likely to get herself killed if she didn’t pay attention. She was almost acting as if she were afraid. But that couldn’t be . . . could it?
She forced a slow, deep breath, straightened her hat and smoothed her pale-blue skirt, and took measured steps toward the gallery.
She’d run away to enlist. Had picked up a gun to fight. Smuggled her way past Confederate pickets and had nearly lost her life on numerous occasions. Yet why did the thought of seeing Gabe wrap her nerves into a quivering mass of knots?
Before she could think further, she found herself staring at the bold lettering of the Brady Gallery, watching the crush of people blur past.
What if Gabe wasn’t even here? What made her think he would be present? The announcement had only mentioned his photographs. Nothing more.
Her knees trembled. She shouldn’t have come. It was a fool’s errand. Just as she turned to flee, she collided with a solid chest.
“Forgive me—”
“You’re not leaving, are you, miss?”
The rich baritone caused her to raise her face. When her gaze met his, her pulse ricocheted.
Gabe.
Gabe’s chest constricted, joy lifting his lips and spreading throughout his entire body.
Cassie was here, looking more beautiful and feminine than he’d ever seen her. He was afraid if he reached out and touched her, she might disappear.
“Cassie . . .” He breathed her name, suddenly overcome with emotion so deep he couldn’t form words.
She’d been a phantom, haunting his dreams, his days, his mind. . . . She’d consumed every part of him and had done everything but vanish. And in one jarring moment, she’d reappeared in warm flesh and blood. He couldn’t think.
A pretty blush stained her cheeks. “I read about the war exhibit at the gallery and saw your name, so . . .” She let the thought trail off into an uncomfortable silence and toyed with the drawstring of her reticule. “I—that is, I know I have much I need to tell you.”
A burst of light rose in his chest. He was weightless. A smile he was helpless to repress spread wide. “Later. We have all the time in the world to catch up.”
She offered a tiny smile in return. He felt his own tension unwind by measures.
He extended his arm, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Come. Let me show you the gallery.”
They strolled through the green-and-gold gallery for over an hour, studying each photograph, reliving memories of places and friends, people and battles. They fell into a comfortable camaraderie, saying nothing yet much at the same time. When the building grew so stuffy and crowded it was d
ifficult to draw a decent breath, Gabe grasped Cassie’s hand. “Follow me.”
They stepped outside into the crisp October air, and he breathed deeply of the cool, refusing to relinquish Cassie’s hand as they strolled toward the park.
“Your photographs are stunning.”
He soaked in her praise. “Thanks to Brady’s training and the kind welcome of my friends, like one Thomas Turner.”
Smiling, she bit her lip and looked down as they walked.
He sobered, longing to know what had transpired during the months of silence. He led her through the park’s iron gate and into the blazing-red and fiery-orange trees of autumn. “What happened, Cass? After the battle?”
She stopped walking and searched his face. “I saw him. I saw Jonah.” Her chin quivered. “He’d been shot through the heart and was clutching the pocket watch I’d given him.” A tear escaped.
He drew her into an embrace, tucking her head under his chin, gently rubbing her shoulders.
She pulled back and wiped her eyes. “I’m not sure what happened. Something inside me snapped. Briggs was already prepared to tell Captain Johnston about me. Then Jonah. All the noise. The screams. The deception. The pressure. I carried Jonah away from the battlefield and buried him. Then I found an abandoned farmhouse and hunkered down in a cellar until the fighting had passed. I don’t know what to say other than I knew I couldn’t do it a moment longer. I buried Thomas Turner with Jonah and walked away.” She looked into his eyes, and his chest constricted. “I returned home only to discover my father had left town. I’ve spent the time ever since caring for Granny.” A shadow crossed her beautiful features. “She passed away two months ago.”
“I’m sorry. She was a remarkable woman. Just like her granddaughter.”
The smile she offered stole his breath. It was pure and deep and dazzling, free of any restraint. He studied her, uncertain whether he should voice his musings.
Her brows pinched. “What’s wrong?”
“You. There’s something different about you. A good difference. What is it? You seem . . . peaceful.”
“I am.” Leaning in, she whispered, “I’ve forgiven my father. It’s still hard for me on occasion. I fight bitterness toward him, but I’m learning. I’ve made my peace with God. Confessed my deception to my family. I’m free.”
A lump wedged in his throat. Thank you, Lord.
“I’m so glad, Cass.”
She gave him a long sideways glance. “What of you? I prayed for you every day.”
He tugged her back into a walk. “There’s not much to tell. I’ve been following the Michigan Second through their military campaign, though it hasn’t been much fun without you there. And of course, I’m sure you heard once General McClellan was replaced, Pinkerton quit, so my limited tenure with the secret service came to a quick end. It’s funny you came today, seeing how I recently told Mr. Brady I could no longer record his war images.”
Cassie gasped and yanked him to a stop. “You can’t do that! Your talent! And what of Jacob?”
“Jacob, I’m pleased to report, is now happily married.”
“What?”
Gabe laughed. “That was my reaction as well. Remember the woman who helped nurse him back to health? Miss Esther, his friend from the youth charity club? Well, they tied the knot not long after he recovered from pneumonia.”
Her voice was so quiet he had to lean in to hear her question. “And the sale of my picture . . . did it, uh, help?”
He grasped her hands. “Cassie,” he breathed, “how I wish I could undo that decision a thousand times over.”
She shook her head, a smile teasing her lips. “I’ve forgiven you. It’s all right.”
He sighed and stroked the backs of her hands with the pads of his thumbs. “The Lord taught me a lesson about trying to do his job for him. I hurt the most wonderful person I’ve ever known trying to fix things my own way. Little did I know that Miss Esther is quite well-to-do. She paid the rest of his hospital bills, and they are living a comfortable life.” His chest burned. “Cass, I’m so sorry.”
She shook her head. “Everything happened the way it did for a reason. I’m sorry I gave you such a difficult time about it. I should have let you explain.”
“I bear the entirety of the blame.” He looked deeply into her eyes to gauge her reaction as he spilled his last bit of news. “I can’t very well pursue the passion and acclaim of photography when my passion for a certain female soldier burns even hotter, now can I?”
He heard her soft inhale.
“Cass, I told Brady I was quitting in order to travel to Michigan, find you, and tell you I can’t live one more minute without you.”
Her lips parted. “That day at the hospital? You were wrong, you know.”
He frowned, not understanding her train of thought. “Wrong? About what?”
She stepped close, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Remember that Christmas Day in the Alexandria hospital? You pulled me into the storage closet and asked me how to let you back into my heart?”
His mouth grew dry. “Yes.”
Her voice dropped low. “I couldn’t give you an answer because the truth was you were never out of my heart. You never have been and you never will be. You own it fully and completely.”
Reaching up, he cupped her face and stroked her jaw with his fingertips. His gaze dropped from the sky blue of her brilliant eyes to her full lips. He lowered his head and claimed them, pulled her toward him with a sweet possessiveness. She was soft and yielding, responding to his touch in a way that stole his breath.
Heart hammering, he broke away before he forgot himself completely. He rested his head against hers, locking her in his arms.
“Now that you’ve found me, what will you do, Gabe? Go back to the war?”
His eyes widened at the shaky tremors racking her voice. Her face was lined with fear. She was scared. Scared she would lose him. His heart tugged. “No, darling. I’m sick of death and dying. With the newspapers asking for more of my photographs, opportunities are limitless. And not just in the war. There are a number of papers needing photographers willing to record sights of the West.”
She was silent in his arms.
He leaned in and nuzzled her neck. “I thought I’d lost you.” Months of anguish, of prayers and tears wiped clean in a single moment. Thank you, Father. “I love you, Cassie. Marry me. We can travel the world together. Or we can build a log cabin in the mountains and hide away. I don’t care. As long as we’re together.”
Cassie laughed, causing shivers of pleasure to tease his skin. “You’re really brave enough to let me loose in the Wild West?”
Chuckling, he kissed her once more. “You’ll rise to any occasion, Cass. But Thomas Turner? I don’t think even the Wild West is ready for that character.”
Epilogue
KANSAS
1870
Gabe ducked under the black curtain and adjusted the big, brass-barreled lens once more.
“All right, I think we’re ready.” He dropped the prepared glass plate into the slot. The stoic group of Sioux Indians sitting before him didn’t move. Didn’t even appear to blink in the bright sunshine. Tall grasses swayed in the warm wind around them.
“One, two, three.”
Her husband removed the lens cover, and Cassie watched as he ticked off the seconds. They’d traveled through the breathtaking beauty of the Ozarks and were now picking their way through the prairie lands of Kansas. She’d watched and assisted him in his work in every conceivable circumstance. So much so, she could read his thoughts and calculate the plate exposure time. He was a brilliant photographer.
She moved to cover her still-flat stomach with her hand. She hadn’t yet told him about the new life growing inside. He would likely be just as overjoyed as he’d been with their first little one. Fresh love for Gabe flooded her anew, stinging her eyes with unshed tears. She’d never seen such a loving, gentle father.
Irritated with herself, she swiped
the moisture away. Love had turned her into a blubbering mess. What teasing she would endure if Granny could see her now.
“Done!”
Ducking out from under the curtain, Gabe straightened and moved to talk with the interpreter, shaking hands and thanking each one of the Indians, offering them gifts for their willingness to be photographed. When he gave a small stack of beaver pelts to the man with the most elaborate headdress, his beaming smile bathed his face in incalculable wrinkles. Gabe looked back and sought her eyes. Grinning, she shook her head. No matter who he was with, her handsome husband was a charmer.
“Momma, look! I pick dese for you.”
She turned to see their son toddling toward them, his chubby legs sprinting as fast as he dared. One arm was hidden behind his back. The tall grasses and hills made an ideal playground for a curious little boy.
“And what do you have hidden behind your back, Jacob Jonah Avery?” She ruffled his brown curls as his dimpled grin widened. She tickled his tummy just before he thrust his pudgy arm forward, a wilting bouquet of dandelions held in his fist. Their downy yellow heads bobbed in the gentle breeze.
She swallowed, flooded with bittersweet memories. Gabe walked up behind their son, his lips curving gently.
“Don’t like them, Mama?”
The plaintive question caused her to swing her focus back to the green-eyed boy staring at her in worry. She grasped the flowers and tugged her son into a hug, nuzzling his neck until he burst into giggles. “I love them, darling. How did you know? Dandelions happen to be my favorite.”
He wrapped his little arms around her neck. “Why?”
Kissing his nose, she murmured, “Because anytime you see dandelions blooming in mortar, hope remains.”
A Note from the Author
The inspiration for Cassie Kendrick came from a real woman named Emma Edmonds (also known as Emma Edmondson).
Just like Cassie, Emma enlisted to escape a doomed marriage arranged by her cruel father. She cut off her hair and assumed the name Frank Thompson. Her upbringing as a farm girl prepared her for the rigors of war, and she worked as a medical transport runner, regimental mail carrier, and eventually a spy for Allan Pinkerton. It is estimated that at least four hundred other women disguised themselves and enlisted during the Civil War.
