It took a moment for Benton’s eyes to grow accustomed to the dim light within and discern Sarah Duvall sitting on a chair in an arrow-straight pose of heroic solitude. If she had seen him outside or was aware he had entered, she gave no sign of it. Benton dropped his gaze to her hands that were wrapped firmly around a book she held in her lap. It did not take him long to discern it was the same family Bible he had seen at their first meeting. He sat casually on the edge of a table near the door, crossing his arms as he listened to the interrogation that had already begun.
“Mrs. Duvall, I think you know why you are here,” Colonel Beckham said. “Have you anything to say?”
“I will be glad to answer any questions you have, Colonel Beckham, but otherwise, no, I have nothing to say.”
Benton noticed she had a way of talking cordially, but at the same time with coldness and formality. She was all rigid composure and decency.
“Very well, Mrs. Duvall. Let’s start at the beginning, with your loyalties. Where do they lie?”
“I make no secret of my loyalties.” Her tone was calm and purposeful and showed no hint of fear. “They lie with my country.”
“Which is?”
For the first time she turned her gaze upon the colonel. “Until a year ago this was part of the United States, and as far as I’m concerned, it still is—until proved otherwise.”
Benton tried to keep his face as unemotional as hers, but inwardly he was wondering if this charade was worth the possible cost.
Beckham bowed slightly at her remark. “We intend to prove otherwise, do we not Major Benton?”
Benton nodded, but noticed she did not look in his direction. Her blue eyes remained focused on the space in front of her, and although they had appeared expressive upon first glance, he could now see that they concealed rather than revealed anything she was thinking. The woman sitting in front of him possessed a grace and a calm dignity that seemed out of place in the dark, dingy room.
Colonel Beckham came out from behind the desk and paced slowly back and forth in front of her. “I might caution you to contain your tongue when conversing with those who are in control of this territory. I don’t mean to make personal accusations, but certainly you are aware by now that your name is being associated with those who exhibit a conduct that the Confederacy finds objectionable.”
“As I said, I do not pretend to be neutral in thought or spirit, but I am neutral in action.” Her voice was soft, but forceful.
Beckham stopped and studied her intently. “At the moment, I accuse you only of opportunity. But since, as you admit, you are in league with our enemies, I must ask if you took part in the recent intentional burning of citizens’ houses, barns and granaries.”
“I did not say I was in league with them,” she said, correcting him. “And if you have any evidence of such an accusation, I would like to know it.”
“The evidence against you is this: the Yankees were at your home on the morning of the fifteenth, the burnings began that night, and your home, Waverly, is one of the only houses untouched. Now have you anything to say?”
“I cannot deny those facts. I…” Sarah looked down at her hands and did not continue.
“Perhaps you can understand my concern, Mrs. Duvall,” Colonel Beckham said. “The evidence is great against you, and you have admitted to Union loyalties.”
Sarah regained her composure. “I do not see what my loyalties have to do with my opinion on the matter of arson.”
“Which is?”
“I detest it.”
“Very admirable indeed. But tell me this, Mrs. Duvall…” The colonel leaned down with his hands flat on the table so his eyes were level with hers. “Where were you the evening of the fifteenth? One of your neighbors has written testimony that he rode to Waverly and you were absent from the property.”
Before she had time answer, but not before all the color drained from her face, Benton began laughing heartily.
Colonel Beckham turned around. “What is so amusing, Major Benton?”
“I apologize, Colonel,” Benton said, still laughing. “I just find it amusing that we have come to this.”
“Come to what? Out with it, man.”
“Interrogating a mere woman for Heaven’s sake! Look at her! Do you really feel she is capable of the atrocities of which she has been accused?”
Colonel Beckham stared at her a moment as if not quite sure. “Think back, Colonel, to the night of the fourteenth. Do you remember it?”
The colonel growled. “Of course, I remember. It rained cats and dogs!”
“Indeed it did,” Benton said, “leaving quite a sea of muck for a few days as I recall. What woman would venture out under such conditions?” He laughed again as he watched Colonel Beckham’s gaze roam across the woman who sat ramrod straight. Her dress was neat as a pin; her hair coiled neatly in a bun at the base of her neck. She appeared utterly feminine, if not a little fragile.
“Well, if she did not assist with the plan, neither did she do anything to prevent it,” Beckham said. “Surely she knew their intent.”
Benton turned to Sarah. “Do you condone the burning of civilian’s homes?”
She gazed up at him, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “Never. By either army.”
“And if you were a man, and were therefore capable, would you do everything in your power to stop it?”
The delay in her response was marked by the rapid blinking of her eyes. Benton noticed she swallowed hard, as if physically swallowing her pride, and nodded. “I do not condone the torch. Therefore, of course, if I were a man and capable, I would have done all in my power to prevent it.”
Benton clapped his hands together. “You see, Colonel? She may be guilty of sympathizing with the enemy, but she is certainly not capable of assisting them. I believe she had no ill intent toward her neighbors and would have assisted them if not for the unfortunate hindrance of being female. We must not be overly cautious at the cost of common sense and sound reasoning.”
“You may be right,” Beckham said, “but she still has not divulged where she was on the night of the fifteenth.”
Benton turned to Sarah but could think of nothing more to say to defend her, while the image of the mud-covered figure determined to save her neighbors’ homes at any cost appeared vividly before his eyes. He stared now at her proud, erect stance, and marveled at her ability to display and maintain that calm exterior. She had a splendor about her, a grand sophistication that seemed almost unworldly.
“I have given my word I did not aid, assist, or support the Federals in their malicious attack.” Sarah stood and looked Colonel Beckham directly in the eye. “There was a time when a lady’s word was sufficient.”
Her look of rebuke upon the colonel, who considered himself a man of honor, was indeed sufficient to bring the ordeal to a conclusion.
“Indeed.” The colonel looked sincerely apologetic. “Much as I hate to admit it, I have no real evidence against you. I am forced to concur with Major Benton that a woman of your stature is incapable of the crimes of which you have been accused.”
Sarah kept her unflinching gaze upon the colonel. “Then I presume I am free to go.”
“Yes, of course.” Beckham cleared his throat. “But, Mrs. Duvall, I would like to make it clear that if you were to change your course, as it were, you would certainly find yourself in a much more advantageous position.”
Benton saw a nerve twitch in the woman’s cheek, but otherwise, she displayed no emotion. “Thank you, Colonel Beckham. But I’m sure you understand that allegiances do not change merely because of certain advantages.” Her gaze drifted to Benton and then to someplace over his shoulder.
As Colonel Beckham opened the door and motioned for one of his men, Major Benton took the opportunity to speak quietly to Sarah. “I would be glad to accompany you back to Waverly.”
“I am sure that will not be necessary,” she said curtly.
“In offering to accompany you I was in no way inferr
ing that it was nec—”
Colonel Beckham turned back around and motioned for Sarah. “There’s a wagon waiting for you, ma’am. My men will see that you are escorted safely home.”
Colonel Beckham stepped back inside and pulled an envelope from his coat. “Major Benton, before you get away, I have something for you.” He pushed the document toward him. “It’s from the commanding general. A copy has been forwarded to Richmond.”
Benton opened the envelope and quickly read the missive.
In the past two days, Major Douglas A. Benton has displayed great courage and enterprise in gathering intelligence of the enemy’s movements, organizing an offensive and halting their abuses on local citizens. The victory affords additional proof of Major Benton’s merits as commander and adds fresh laurels to his intrepid command so signalized for valor already.
It is for these reasons that I recommend him for a promotion to the rank of Colonel.
Rather than elation, Benton felt a twinge of guilt. “The trust in my abilities is humbling, although I’m not sure I deserve such an honor.”
“Folly. The position is well nigh overdue if you ask me. Now then, my men will see that Mrs. Duvall is delivered safely to her home.”
Benton looked out the door, and though he didn’t know what he would have said or how he would have possibly said it, he was disappointed to see she was already seated in the wagon. Her straight back and proud stance gave no sign of the humiliation she must have been feeling, but the color in her cheeks and her somber eyes revealed it to him all too clearly.
He saw her look down once to the ragged book she held in her hands and sigh heavily, but the action was fleeting. When she lifted her head again, it was as if a new force flowed within her. Despite the abuse and insults to her character by friends and neighbors, she maintained the poise of an all enduring and invincible soldier, exhibiting the type of courage that is not only physical—but moral and spiritual as well.
As the wagon pulled away, a few of the passersby standing along the street began hurling new and offensive epithets upon her. Benton felt in his heart that he would rather die than witness the degradation of one so patently loyal, and he knew that whether he lived a day or a decade more, he would never forget the mask of composure she wore upon her brave face as she faded from his view.
Chapter 5
Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks.
—Samuel Johnson
March 1863
Colonel Benton accepted the report from his scout with a nod, glanced at the massing dark clouds overhead, and turned in his saddle toward Connelly. “Send Blake and Martin ahead to announce to the widow at Waverly we will be stopping for shelter and food.” He turned back and had already urged his horse forward when his officer questioned the order.
“Waverly, sir?”
“You heard me, Major.” Benton drew back on his reins and looked over at Connelly. “It is the closest dwelling, and I’m not going to get a soaking in this storm just to avoid the hostility of a noncombatant.” Urging his horse forward again as if the matter were inconsequential, he spoke over his shoulder. “We have avoided the widow at the expense of others in the neighborhood long enough. If Mrs. Duvall is able to provide food and forage for her Federal friends, she can certainly offer equal rations to us.”
As Connelly saluted and spurred his horse forward to carry out the order, Benton tried to convince himself that sending the two privates ahead had been military protocol, not a way to alleviate his discomfort at being the one to inform Sarah Duvall he was coming to dinner after the unfortunate circumstances that had last brought them together.
As they rode out of the tree line, Benton glanced at the sky. A low vanguard of clouds crouched in the distance, and mutterings and grumblings on the horizon accompanied the lightning flickering like battle flares in the distance. Leaves trembled and twisted on the trees, waving their early spring finery as if making a show of defiant splendor before disaster.
When the house came into view, Benton’s heart began beating at a more frantic pace than it had when facing the enemy some hours earlier. Although she had behaved respectfully when last they had met, he had no doubt she would greet him now with hostility at his unexpected visit. She was beyond a doubt the most aloof, unapproachable female he had ever met, and he had no illusions about a congenial greeting upon his arrival. In fact, the weather seemed somehow emblematic of the turbulence yet to come. Benton put his head down against the rising wind and spattering of rain and prepared for battle as he neared his destination.
He was surprised when one of the men he had sent ahead met him at the gate. “Mrs. Duvall says she can only take five officers in the house. The rest will have to go to the barn to eat and wait out the storm.”
Benton nodded and breathed a sigh of relief that at least she wasn’t going to greet him with the shotgun.
“And, Colonel Benton, she won’t put down that blasted gun.”
Benton frowned and dismounted, handing over his reins. “Very well. Go get comfortable in the barn for now.”
As Benton made his way to the house, he saw no sign of the widow or any indication that his troops or horses were going to be fed. With his head bent down against what was now an onslaught of rain, he bounded up the steps of the house, almost running into its owner, who appeared out of nowhere and seemed not to notice the wind tearing at her skirts or the rain soaking her face as she scrutinized his men riding toward the barn. He watched her eyes find the face she was seeking and the look of reassurance that followed when she saw her brother was alive and well. By the time her eyes met his, the satisfied look was gone, replaced by a glint of petulance. She nodded in his direction, providing the only indication that she knew he was there.
Being a gentleman, Benton removed his hat and bowed low. “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your charm, Mrs. Duvall,” he said, trying to sound sincere.
“And I’m sorry to see you haven’t found any, Major Benton,” she said frostily, turning toward the door with the shotgun clearly visible in her hand. “I am not prepared for guests.”
“I am not here for a social call,” he said bluntly, as one of his staff came bounding up the steps.
“The horses are being fed and the men are getting comfortable, Colonel.”
Benton watched the woman in front of him stop abruptly, look back over her shoulder at the new insignia on his collar, and then continue into the house. The expression on her face when she had met his gaze for a brief moment was unreadable.
“Very well,” Benton said, removing his gum blanket and shaking it out on the porch. There was no abatement now in flashes of lightning and the low, steady growl of thunder above the wind. “But don’t let them get too comfortable. I have a feeling we will be wearing out our welcome here rather soon.”
When Benton entered the large, inviting foyer, he found it not the least bit extravagant, yet it reflected striking elegance and sophistication. The woman holding a gun in the middle of the room as the other officers entered did much to spoil the image of enchantment that first greeted his eyes, however. It appeared that the storm he thought he had avoided by stopping here had not been evaded after all.
“You do not look pleased to see us, Mrs. Duvall.” Benton spoke with the calm authority of a man in charge, not revealing in the least his pounding heart.
“I’ll admit I’ve been more agreeably surprised,” she responded in an annoyed tone. “I cannot pretend a toleration I do not feel.”
“I regret that we are compelled to impress food.” Benton took a step toward her but watched her warily as if she were a stray animal he feared would bite. “But I trust you will not make the necessity needlessly unpleasant.” He moved his gaze from her face to the gun, and then held out his hand for the weapon. Even without words, the action made clear it was not a request but a command, and it was as arrogantly given as if he were a king and she his subject.
She stubbornly held onto the instrument
of carnage. “I thought I had made my loyalties clear.”
All of the heads in the room turned now toward Benton awaiting his reply.
“That you did, Mrs. Duvall. But by shunning Waverly, I have allowed you to force your neighbors to bear the brunt of providing sustenance to my men and their mounts.”
To this, the widow continued to stand her ground with shoulders square, blue eyes unblinking. At long last she took a deep breath of exasperation and shrugged her shoulders. “I can only offer such hospitality as my home affords.” She paused and looked up at him steadily. “I hope you do not intend to confuse my kindness for cordiality.”
“You can be sure there is no confusion,” Benton said, taking the gun gingerly from her hand. “We are gentlemen and will behave as such. But when circumstances require, as they have today, we will not pass Waverly by for the sake of avoiding a confrontation with you.” Benton stood calmly before her though the sound of his own heartbeat rang in his ears. He found himself wanting this woman’s respect more than her tolerance, but he knew he would have to be grateful for whatever he could get.
After staring at him a moment, she shifted her gaze to the faces of the three other officers who stood awkwardly silent with muddied boots and solemn expressions in her home.
“Mrs. Duvall, I have the pleasure of introducing Major Connelly, Captain Anderson, and Lieutenant Stevens.” The three men removed their hats and nodded, while Benton looked around and over his shoulder. “Where is Lieutenant Callahan?”
“Jake said he’d prefer to stay in the barn,” Connelly said. “I told him that was understandable, considering…you know…the circumstances.”
Benton marked the rise and fall of Sarah’s bosom and the look of torment as she stared straight ahead while they spoke of her brother. Not a limb moved, nor did her eyes waver for a few long moments as she battled her emotions while absorbing the news. Then, with a swoosh of her skirt, she turned toward the kitchen and disappeared.
Above and Beyond Page 4
