Caitlin groaned and writhed under her sheet. Noah knelt by her side, wiping her with a cool rag once more.
“Ana … ” Her voice was hoarse, her eyes still closed.
“Ana is here, her fever has broken.” He circled the rag on her hand, her palm, and in between her fingers.
“Noah? We need you …”
His breath hitched at the sound of his Christian name on her parched lips. “I am here, Caitlin. I am here.” He swept her hair from her neck, stroked with the cloth from her jaw to her shoulder and downward.
And stopped when his fingertips grazed a bump. Dropping the rag back into its bowl, he looked closer at her upper arm, traced a raised, jagged circle of flesh with the pad of his thumb. As though he’d been stung, he sat back on his heels and stared at the unmistakable evidence. Caitlin had been shot by a .58 caliber bullet, or something very similar. But why?
“Jack,” she whispered. “I’m sorry … I lost you … you know … always loved you….”
Questions tangled in Noah’s weary mind. But none of the answers would matter if Caitlin did not recover. Please God, bring her back to us. Or to Jack, whoever he is. Noah had found himself between lovers before. This time, he’d stay out of the way.
Brooklyn, New York
Wednesday, March 9, 1864
With Aiden tugging on her hand, Ruby stared at Edward, measuring the light in his eyes against the shadows in her soul, and could not guess which way the scales tipped. “Is it very important to you?” she asked, keeping one eye on her restless twenty-one-month-old son.
“I should think you’d enjoy yourself.”
“I’ve never been to a ball before.” The mere idea of dancing should not chafe her so, and yet her skin tingled in protest.
“But this isn’t just any ball—it’s a Calico Ball!” He pointed to the notice in Drum Beat, the official newspaper of Brooklyn’s Sanitary Commission Fair. “The women are supposed to wear plain calico dresses, you see, rather than silk and satin finery. The idea is that money that could have been spent on gowns and jewels should be donated to—” He underlined the text with his finger. “Ah yes, the families of our soldiers. It is to be the culmination of this grand fair.”
He waved his arm, and Ruby followed its arc, craning her neck to appreciate the grand spectacle that surrounded them now. Brooklyn’s Academy of Music on Montague Street had been transformed into an eleven-thousand-square-foot emporium sparkling with patriotism. Red, white, and blue sashes draped the soaring ceiling. Gaslights flooded the room with radiance, reflecting on silver and glass until the vast room seemed wainscoted and ceiled with rainbows. All around Ruby, silks and satins shimmered softly. Rare flowers perfumed the air, while piano music tinkled above the tumult.
“What do you think?” Edward prodded, his expression drooping with her hesitation.
“About the ball? It’s a lovely idea for a very good cause.”
“And will you go with me?” His brown eyes were warm, if wary.
“I’ll think about it.”
Edward’s smile fell flat. “Very well. There is more to see. Shall we?” He scooped Aiden up and held him on his hip as they meandered along.
Crowds buzzed between sales booths of the Great Central Bazaar. Tables fairly sagging with donations were organized into departments: worsted goods; glassware; Parisian fancy goods; baskets; wax flowers; and men’s, women’s, and children’s white goods. A soda fountain had been brought in to quench the fair-goers’ thirst, and exhibitions of new homemaking devices attracted women like dust to a sunny parlor. There was enough here to keep Aiden busy looking—and if Ruby wasn’t careful, grabbing—for days.
Near the stage wall, a mural of a Sanitary Commission field hospital served as backdrop to a nearby tent displaying the newest war photos and relics, plus wounded soldiers attended by Sanitary Commission workers. Edward caught Ruby’s eye, concern etched in his face, as if he knew the scene would whisk her back to the Virginia Peninsula. The place where Matthew had died and Aiden was born. She nodded, and understanding arced between them. Wordlessly, Edward placed a hand on her shoulder. The touch burned through her dress until she could bear it no longer. She shrugged him off, lips twitching into a forced smile, and watched the spark vanish from his eyes.
Silently amid the din, they threaded a path through the crowd, until they neared an optical illusion called “The Skating Pond.” Several smartly dressed skaters formed a tableau, mirrors doubling the effect. It was an indoor replica of the very pond at Central Park where Edward had first declared his intentions to Ruby. Her heart ached with the memory as she stood with him now.
Questions swirled in Edward’s eyes as he looked at Ruby, and she feared she had no answers for him. Then the sound of his name on another woman’s lips snapped his attention away.
“Mr. Goodrich! Oh, Mr. Goodrich!”
Ruby twisted to find the voice’s owner.
“Miss Lanser!” Edward said, and Ruby’s gut cinched.
Amy edged closer, with roses in her cheeks and fake snow glittering in her raven-black hair. “Mr. Goodrich, it is so good to see you again! My, what a dashing figure you cut in your cloak and top hat!”
“You’re looking well yourself.” Edward cleared his throat. “Allow me to introduce you to Ruby O’Flannery and her son, Aiden, here.”
“Oh! Your immigrant friends, yes, my grandmother told me all about you. Charmed, I’m sure. Grandmother said you’re a domestic, correct? Did you see the Hall of Manufacturers? They’ve got a whole line of sewing machines on display, plus Universal Clothes-Wringers and Hawe’s Patent Clothes-Dryer! Wouldn’t that make your job so much easier, Ruby?”
She means well. We are immigrants indeed. And I am a domestic. Still, the words were like sandpaper on sunburned skin. “Quite.”
“How lovely of you to bring them to the fair, Edw—I mean, Mr. Goodrich. Isn’t it marvelous what the ladies of Brooklyn have done? We’re sure to beat out the Cincinnati Fair by a heap, and they pulled in $240,000!”
“Let’s hope so, yes,” Edward sputtered.
“Are you going to the Calico Ball on Friday?” Her sapphire eyes flashed brilliantly. “It’s going to be the cherry on top of the whole fair!”
Edward looked at Ruby. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Not sure? Whatever could keep you from it? You simply must come. But beware! I’ll drag you onto the dance floor myself if I have to.”
Amy glowed with energy, radiated warmth. She was young, vibrant, beautiful, talented, patriotic, and without blemish—either physical or emotional, Ruby suspected. So very unlike me. Perfect for a pastor’s wife. And here she was, so ready to take Edward’s hand, where Ruby recoiled from his touch. Let him have her, a voice whispered. You could never make him happy. The words were poison, ready for her to swallow.
Edward turned to Ruby then, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and memories flooded her mind. Edward teaching her the Bible in the garden, digging for worms with Aiden. Standing up to protect her during the draft riots last summer. Bringing her into his home, buying her a sewing machine. Drinking tea rather than dining out. She saw him for what he had been to her, and for what he promised to be.
Tears burned Ruby’s eyes, her throat. There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear. Fear told her to give Edward up, but love said he was hers already. It was time to start acting like it.
Above the arch of the stage, in letters formed of tiny gas jets, blazed the inscription, “In Union Is Strength.” Did it not apply to Ruby’s life as well? In a surge of courage, she grabbed Edward’s hand and twined her fingers between his. “We’ll be at the ball. Both of us.”
Edward clasped her hand, his brown eyes sparkling once again, and Ruby grinned at the pink peeking above his collar. If Amy spoke, Ruby didn’t know it. If Aiden reached for her, she didn’t notice. All she heard and saw was the man she loved.
New York City
Friday, March 11, 1864
Edward’s pulse pounded to
the beat of the quadrille music filling Knickerbocker Hall. Still seated at one of the dining tables with Ruby, he sipped his coffee, quail and broccoli cooling on his plate. All he could think about was the ring searing his thigh through his pocket.
“Can you believe what they’ve done with this place?” Edward asked Ruby lamely. His gaze skimmed the mirror-paneled walls doubling the sets of dancers, the gigantic two-hundred-light chandelier suspended from the ceiling, and the spicy-scented evergreens, woven into stars, twined around columns, and festooned from draperies. Flags, star-spangled bunting, and state coats-of-arms covered the walls and floor, with a handsome portrait of George Washington hung at the southern end of the building. “If you didn’t know it, I bet you’d never believe they erected this structure just for the fair.”
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Edward slumped back into his coffee before glancing apologetically at Ruby. “I rather wish I was debonair in a situation like this.” His lips slanted.
Ruby laughed, and he laughed at himself with her. “Debonair? I don’t even know what that means, but it sounds out of place for a Calico Ball. This is a charity event, nothing more, remember?”
But it could be. It could be much more, for the two of them. Edward attempted to drown his jangling nerves with more coffee while observing the sets of eight dancers, once more. He knew she wasn’t comfortable with group dances, so they sat this one out. But when the song came to a close, he drew a deep breath, searching her face. “Would you … care to dance?”
“I would.” She smiled bravely, though he knew that dancing would stretch her.
Lord, please give her the strength and courage to do this, he prayed as he led her out onto the floor. Please don’t let any dark memories be associated with my touch. And please—don’t let me step on her toes.
He encircled Ruby’s waist with his right arm and held her right hand in his left. “OK?” Edward searched her eyes.
She nodded. Edward exhaled, then completely forgot what to do next. She smiled, waiting for him to lead her, but his feet refused to move. There they stood, in the middle of a room spinning with rustling skirts and flying coattails. But Edward was lost in her dazzling green eyes, the warmth of her body in his hands emptying his mind of all else.
“Forgive me,” he stuttered. “I’m not the best partner.”
“Yes, you are.” A smile curved her lips. “You are the best partner for me. This is just about my speed.”
He chuckled. “Quite. But shall we try moving, as well? Just for fun. They seem to like it.” Edward nodded at the couples whirling around them, and Ruby laughed.
Finally finding his footing, in the next measure of music, Edward led her into a swirling waltz that even camouflaged his limp, and her red hair shimmered in the light. Ruby was as light on her feet as she was in his hands. He dared to hope that the glimmer in her eyes spelled joy.
This was what he wanted. To hold Ruby without apology, and for her to delight in belonging to him. He reveled in her nearness, and only prayed he could be restrained enough not to draw her closer still. Edward understood her aversion to touch, but in time, surely that would heal. He had faith in her, and in God.
By the time the music ended, Ruby’s spirit soared. She had done it. By the grace of God, she had waltzed with Edward and not pulled away once. She even enjoyed being whisked around the room. It was methodical, predictable, and temporary. Nothing to fear. No fear.
Edward bowed, while Ruby dipped in a low curtsy. “Well done,” he whispered to her, his smile as big as his heart. Then a shadow passed over his face. “Walk with me?”
“What’s wrong?” But she let him lead her off the floor and out the door until they were on Montague Street, next to the covered bridge connecting Knickerbocker Hall with the Academy of Music. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, wrapping her in his scent and warmth. Ruby’s heart thudded. “I—I thought you wanted to go to the ball.”
“I did. We went. I wanted to be with you.”
A carriage trundled over the cobblestones, and Edward waited until it passed. “I want to be with you.”
“I want to be with you too, Edward.”
“Then be my wife.”
He pulled a ring from his pocket and slipped it on her trembling finger.
“Are you—are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t. Please. I will never lift a finger against you. I won’t leave you. You’ll never have to worry about money again, or about Aiden’s future. I love you, Ruby. And I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you how much.” A lump shifted in his throat. “Please say yes,” he whispered.
Hope went to Ruby’s head like champagne. “Aye,” she whispered. “Yes, yes.”
Edward opened his hands, and she placed hers in them. Slowly, he pulled her closer. “May I?” His voice was husky, and she did not have the strength—or the will—to refuse him. She stepped into his embrace, felt his arms wrap around her, her head tucked under his chin.
“You are safe,” he murmured. “You are mine.” His heart pounded in her ears, matching her own quickened rhythm.
’Tis Edward, she reminded herself when her blood rushed in her ears. I’m not trapped, I am loved. It is affection, not violence. He pressed a kiss to her hair—and stopped. “Thank you,” he said, and released her.
Ruby’s heart squeezed in her chest. He loved her, yet did not take from her what she was not yet ready to give. Someday, Ruby would be able to love him with all she had. She was sure of it.
Someday.
Atlanta, Georgia
Saturday, March 12, 1864
Susan watched from the doorway as Noah bent his ear to Caitlin’s chest, listening for her heartbeat, no doubt. It had been five days since he had swooped back into town like some old-fashioned fairy-tale hero, and exactly thirty-nine days since Susan had seen Zeke Murphy. Truly, she should stop counting. She’d never see him again. If, by some chance she would have that opportunity, she would spit in his face the way that diseased soldier at the Athenaeum had spit on her. If it wasn’t for Zeke, none of this would have happened. Too bad I can’t spit on Zeke myself.
Susan brought her hand to her cheek, each pit in her complexion a fingertip-sized crater. It would be a miracle indeed to get any man now, even a foreigner with a German accent. Look at him, hovering over that girl like she’s Varina Davis herself. The lines etched into his face, the tenderness in his strong touch—it scorched Susan’s eyes. What had Caitlin McKae ever done to lasso the man that way? He could fall ill, himself, could even die from nursing Caitlin!
Even more troubling—why had no man ever shown that kind of concern for Susan? Watching him day after day carved out a piece of her soul, or perhaps just reminded her of what was already missing. She had known lust. She had known pleasure. Certainly, she had known power. But in Noah’s quiet, selfless vigilance, he showed Susan—flaunted the fact, really—that she had not known love. Even after Noah had offered it to her so many years ago.
Until now, she’d almost always gotten what she wanted. Now, Noah Becker made Susan wonder if what she craved, and received, had been shoddy—a worthless imitation that falls apart at the slightest strain. She hated him for that.
Rascal kept vigil alongside Noah for the woman who had replaced Susan in the dog’s affections. She had never liked that dog, and both the canine and his owner knew it. Against Susan’s wishes, Noah had accepted him from a cash-poor yeoman farmer as payment for legal services. The dog had pursued Susan’s attentions so much, and she called him a rascal so often, that soon he believed it was his name and answered to it. Rascal represented the first time Noah had not bowed to her wishes. The dog’s presence grated her pride now as much as it had then.
Susan’s chest constricted, squeezing her heart into an unnatural shape like the corset compressing her middle. “Good to see you, too,” she finally said to Noah’s back, the lie slippery on her tongue. It wasn’t good at all unless she could maneuver him the way she once had.
He turned, his tobacco-brown hair disheveled from his lonely vigil, and years peeled away between them. Noah had wanted her once, and she’d teased him mercilessly. Today, it was pity, not longing, that flickered in his steel-blue eyes. It infuriated her.
Noah approached her then, and she recoiled, though it was he who ought to cringe from her. “It’s good to see you up.”
“Honestly, Noah, one would think you were in love with her, the way you’re acting.”
A sad smile curved his lips, and comprehension glimmered in Susan’s muddied mind. By mere accident, she had spoken the truth.
“It isn’t decent! She’s the governess, and she talks like a Northerner!”
“Country of origin has never held the same import for me as it has for you, Miss Kent.”
“Do you love her?” She was aghast.
“Not that it’s any of your business. It doesn’t matter, anyway.”
“It matters to me.”
He frowned, crossed his arms. “I cannot think why. It certainly didn’t matter to you when I loved you.”
Susan paused, disarmed for a moment, before taking up a different tack. “You never touched me with such care.”
“You never let me. But I treated you exactly the way you wanted to be treated. I left you alone. Hid your shame behind my name. Raised your daughter. In fact, my care has never ceased. Now, speaking of Ana, I’d like to go find her if you don’t mind.”
“Minnie is reading to her downstairs. Naomi is there, too.” Both Naomi and Ana were recovering now, with only a few marks on their faces to show for their ordeal. Not like Susan, whose entire face had been almost one solid crust of scabs. The itch alone had nearly driven Susan mad. “Ana’s fine. But I’m not.”
Noah’s eyes glinted as he rubbed a hand over his sandpaper jaw. “I can see that.”
Susan clenched her teeth, shored up her courage for her next performance. “Noah, please. I didn’t mean to argue. Why do you think I came here to your house in the first place, if not to find you? I missed you, Noah. I—” She cast her lashes down out of habit before peering up at him again. “I need you.”
Yankee in Atlanta Page 22
