“That’s what friends do for each other, Frances dear.” Ruth couldn’t keep the irony out of her voice. She and Ruth weren’t friends, but they were the best of enemies. Even so, as he lay dying, Harm begged Ruth to take care of Frances after he was gone. She’d promised …
And so it was.
“But, unlike poor Harm, Peyton made a full recovery. And let me remind you, Frances, my nephew is no longer a scoundrel. He made the decision to change his ways last July, right there on that Pennsylvania battlefield.”
“Well, as the old adage goes, the proof of the pudding is in the eating.” Frances pursed her lips in prim manner. “Most folks in Winchester remember Peyton Collier as a troublemaker and a rogue.”
“The same could be said of your sons, Frances.”
She glowered.
“And, contrary to your offspring, Peyton has changed. He’s a new man in Christ.”
“Which brings me to the reason for my visit.”
“Oh?” Ruth sat forward on the settee. This couldn’t be good.
“As I mentioned, Anthony is sailing for London and Lavinia refuses to remain in Staunton where they’ve been visiting friends. The summer is winding down and she’s bored, so Anthony is sending her home.” Frances let go of a long sigh. “What a relief. I’ve been worried about my baby girl.”
“Baby girl? Bah! She’s twenty-four, Frances. A woman of the world.”
“A babe in the woods.”
Ruth filled her lungs, praying for temperance along with some air. She glanced up at the cracked plaster on the ceiling. In her day, reaching the age of twenty-one was considered to be precariously close to spinster status.
“But it is of some consolation that she’ll have guards with her. Anthony hired the best money could buy.”
“Yankee money?” The quip sailed out of Ruth’s mouth.
“I didn’t ask. Anthony runs Monteague Shipping, not I.”
Ruth bit her lower lip but couldn’t control her fury. “He makes his money by illegally smuggling Negros into Confederate ports where they are auctioned off to the highest bidder. That is, if they survive the journey.” The only good news was that Monteague Shipping had suffered greatly from the effects of the Union’s blockade.
“You will, of course, keep that fact to yourself.”
Ruth conceded a nod. As the best of enemies, they kept each other’s confidences … unless it proved terribly inconvenient.
Frances pulled back her slumping shoulders. “As I was saying, my darling daughter wonders if, while she’s here in Winchester, she might keep company with Peyton, now that he’s a changed man and all that. Let him prove to Lavinia that he’s different.”
“Peyton is an officer on duty with the Union army,” Ruth needlessly reminded her.
Frances waved her comment away. “Oh, politics should never stand in the way of romance. Won’t he get leave any time soon?”
“I doubt it, and unless Winchester flies the United States’ flag, Peyton wouldn’t come here if he did have time off. It’d be suicide.” Ruth marveled at her neighbor’s ignorance while everything inside of her screamed against the idea of a reunion between Lavinia and Peyton. “Besides, things are heating up in the Valley. I doubt Peyton can find a moment’s leisure.”
“A pity.” Frances lifted her teacup and brought it to her age-lined pink lips. She sipped from it. “Lavinia still fancies Peyton.”
“If that’s true, Frances, she could have corresponded with him over the years. And, as you said, she could have come to see him last fall in Washington when he was recovering from his wounds. Good heavens, but she never missed a social event in the city. We saw her name frequently printed on the society page.”
“Yes, and I’m so proud of her.” Frances sighed, her smile fading. “And now that Peyton has recovered, Lavinia is interested in him again.”
“You mean Peyton is good enough for her now that he’s not an invalid?”
“Yes.” Frances batted her lashes and pushed out a grin. “Not that I completely approve, mind you. I’m a Confederate woman and Peyton is one of those awful Yankees—like you.”
Boiling indignation rushed into Ruth’s face. She opened her mouth to speak her mind, but Tabitha walked into the parlor carrying a tray of freshly baked biscuits and berry preserves.
“Couldn’t help overhearing, ladies, and the way I see it, Miss Lavinia had her chance with our boy, but she decided not to show up at the church on their wedding day.” Tabitha’s dark eyes sparked with mischief. “Remember, Ruth? She done left our boy waitin’ at the altar.”
“I remember.” And she thanked God Almighty that Lavinia Monteague was not her niece by marriage today.
“Such insolence from a slave! Ruth, I can’t believe you tolerate it.”
“Oh, she tolerates it, all right. Looks forward to it, I’d say.” With a wink and a grin, Tabitha left the room.
Ruth smiled in her wake before glancing back at Frances. “You know as well as anyone that Tabitha is like a sister to me—and so were you. We grew up together—all three of us.”
“I’m aware of that … that you and I grew up together and that Tabitha was—is—a slave.” Frances glared at Ruth. “As for Peyton, can you blame my daughter? That rake spent the night before their wedding in the company of Lavinia’s cousin Verna.” Frances stood, crossed the room, and helped herself to a biscuit. “Absolutely scandalous! Lavinia wanted to teach him a lesson. She never dreamed he would ride off with the Yankee cavalry instead of seeking her out and begging her forgiveness.”
“It worked out for the best, I think.” Ruth released a long, slow breath. Peyton had successfully dodged that bullet. “Besides, Lavinia supports the Confederacy like her brothers, Anthony and Edward—and you.”
“Oh, but you’re wrong, Ruth dear. Lavinia doesn’t subscribe to any political viewpoint.”
“Really? During her last visit to Winchester, Lavinia was quite friendly with Confederate officers.”
“She merely wanted to lift those soldiers’ morale is all. She would entertain Union troops too.”
“I’m sure she would.” Ruth couldn’t contain another bout of sarcasm.
“Lavinia is bored with politics and current events. She never reads the newspaper unless, of course, her name appears on the society page.”
Claiming a biscuit, Ruth split it and spread berry jam across its soft surface. Was Frances aware of how shallow she made her daughter sound? A truthful description nonetheless.
“But things are different today than they were three and a half years ago.” Frances returned to her seat. Her voice sounded calmer. “Peyton is, as you say, a Christian man.”
And he’s still heir to a small fortune. Ruth bit into warm, doughy goodness and thought of some way to discourage Frances for a while. Perhaps even for good. “There’s another reason Peyton can’t visit with Lavinia.”
“Oh?” Frances tipped her head and leaned forward. “What is it?”
“He has a new romantic interest.” The words popped out before Ruth could think better of them. And maybe it wasn’t a bald-faced lie. For all she knew, Peyton was corresponding with a nice young lady right now.
“A new romantic interest?” Frances’s eyes grew as round as the saucer beneath her teacup. “Do tell.”
“I don’t know much about the young lady at this point.”
“When will you meet her?”
“Soon, I imagine. They’re exchanging letters, similar to the manner in which General Custer courted his wife, Libby.” The news of the young couple had filled pages of Washington’s newspapers. “As you’re aware, the Custers were Washington’s societal darlings.”
“Custer? I hear he’s a blood-thirsty thug.” Frances snorted. “Lavinia met him and told me so.”
“Well, the general is not Peyton’s commanding officer, but Custer is a cavalryman too.”
“Despicable!”
“Exactly how I thought you’d feel about it, my dear Frances.” Ruth couldn’t ha
ve hoped for a better reaction. “So you see? For many reasons a reunion between your daughter and my nephew is not meant to be.”
CHAPTER 6
“You’ve kept her prisoner for two full days now, Peyt. What do you plan to do with her?”
“Not sure.” Peyton glanced at Vern Johnston as they ate beneath the partially cloudy evening sky. “But I certainly wasn’t about to set her free and let the Confederates blow her to bits.”
“Understood. I would have done the same thing.” Vern scratched his stubbly jaw.
“She was that girl we encountered in Woodstock last year, remember? The one who sutured my forearm.” Peyton pushed his sleeve up, revealing a neat scar.
“Oh, right … and she gave us information about those bushwhackers we were tracking.”
“Correct.”
“We caught ’em and earned ourselves a nice promotion.” The smile in Vern’s voice was evident.
“Right again, my friend—thanks to Miss Bell.”
Vern let out a slow whistle. “She’s a feisty little thing. As I recall, she warned all of us not to lay a hand on that sister of hers—the sister who helped the innkeeper serve ale.”
“A poisoned potion. Rotgut.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed by the way our men drank it up.” Vern chuckled.
Smiling, Peyton searched his memory. He had forgotten about Miss Bell’s other sister, although he remembered the youngest, foul-mouthed one—the runaway.
“That little brunette enjoyed flirting.”
“Were you tempted?” Peyton already knew the answer but enjoyed goading his friend. Built like a hulking brown bear, Vern still demonstrated amazing agility in the saddle.
“Tempted? Me? Are you daft, man? Meredith would skin me alive if I even considered dallying with another female, not that I would.”
“Why not? You’re human.”
“So was Joseph, and I always remember how he answered Potiphar’s wife when she tried to seduce him. ‘How then can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?’ It’s not only Meredith’s wrath I’m afraid of—it’s God’s.”
“Good point. But I was thinking more about the fact that you’re just not the kind of man who cheats on his wife.” Johnston was as faithful as a hound, which was part of the reason Peyton always valued the man’s word, not to mention his service. “And if I remember correctly, Miss Bell’s flirty sister was far too young for my liking. Of course, that was before Gettysburg.”
“Amazing what God can do with a man’s life in little more than a year.”
Peyton truly was amazed. If he hadn’t experienced the spiritual metamorphosis, he wouldn’t have believed it possible.
“You know, if we had bivouacked farther east tonight, I’d suggest smuggling Miss Bell off to Meredith in Germantown.”
Peyton recognized the note of longing in Vern’s voice. No doubt his comrade wished that he’d be smuggled off to his wife in Maryland—and not in a pine box either.
“Meredith would know what to do with a scamp like Miss Carrie Ann Bell.”
“I’m sure she would.” Peyton set aside his tin plate and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Meredith is one of those women who appears meek and soft-spoken and fragile, but who possesses an iron resolve.”
“Tenth wedding anniversary coming up in November.”
Peyton glanced over in time to see Vern stuff half of a boiled potato into his mouth. Since several of his men had raided a Confederate farmer’s storehouse this afternoon, Peyton and his troops would eat well the next couple of days.
“Hard to imagine being married that long.” Peyton’s relationships with women had been brief encounters, except for his regrettable engagement to Lavinia Monteague. But since Gettysburg, Peyton refrained from both saloon girls and camp followers. Miraculously, they no longer interested him. Vern once said it was a sign that God had indeed taken Peyton up on the bargain he’d made after the first day’s bloody battle in Pennsylvania.
“Your time will come to fall in love, Peyt.”
“Well, don’t get any ideas about matching me up with one of Meredith’s unattached girlfriends.”
Vern chuckled. “Not to worry. I don’t have any tricks up my sleeve.” He bit into a piece of dried beef.
“Good.” Still, Peyton couldn’t deny the loneliness he often felt.
The memory of a particularly low time during his recovery scampered across his mind, a day when Aunt Ruth suggested they pray for God to bring just the right young woman into his life—and hers too. After all, Aunt Ruth and Tabitha were the only family he had. There might never be any pleasing Tabitha, but his aunt’s opinion of his future helpmeet greatly mattered to him.
Off in the distance, Peyton surveyed the small clusters of men. They ate their suppers, drank boiled coffee, and conversed. Some played cards, wrote in their diaries, or penned letters to loved ones at home. Some sang. Even now, sweet notes from a harmonica wafted over on a gust of smoky breeze. There’s no place like home …
Peyton drew in a long breath and slowly released it. Why in the world did musicians choose to play this mournful melody? It made mush out of his men.
Movement a ways off caught his eye. Sitting up, he bent his right leg and slung his right arm over his knee. He squinted at the lone shadowy figure hurrying toward them. Soon recognition set in. Tommy.
The younger man swept off his hat. “Evenin’, Colonel.” He glanced at Vern and inclined his head. “Major Johnston.”
“Evening.” Peyton stood. “Do you need to speak with me?”
“Yes, sir. Miss Carrie Ann was sore uncomfortable in that uniform she’s been wearing, so I scrounged up trousers, a shirt, and a vest. Don’t know who the garments belonged to, on account of the laundress, Miss Phoebe, has had them for some time. The owner was smaller-boned than most fellas, so his clothes ought to come close to fittin’ her.” The grin on his face was obvious even in the faint moonlight. “Found her a bar of nice-smelling soap too. Then we exchanged boots, since hers fit me better and likewise the other way. Miss Carrie Ann was awfully pleased with me.”
A grin worked its way across Peyton’s mouth. The boy looked a mite besotted. “Did Miss Bell eat tonight?”
“Yes, sir. Three boiled potatoes, a mess of dried beef, and two apples.”
“Good work, Tommy.”
“Thank you, sir. And Major LaFont wants to see you right away. He says if Miss Carrie Ann is staying in camp awhile, she can help him with the wounded.”
“What does she say about that?”
“Don’t know, sir. Miss Carrie Ann is bathing in the creek ’fore she puts on them clothes I found her. With the rain we had, she got muddy, and she already come here with a lot of dirt on her.”
“She’s what? Bathing in the creek!” Peyton’s heart beat faster. “We’re in a camp full of men here!” Despite the exclamation, he kept his voice lowered. “You can’t allow her to bathe—”
“Don’t worry, Colonel.” Tommy came forward with hands out, as if forestalling further reprimand. “She’s hid behind trees, long grass, and bushes. If she doesn’t get snake bit, she’ll be fine, and Miss Carrie Ann said she ain’t afraid of snakes. What’s more, Major LaFont promised to keep an eye out for her.”
Peyton swallowed the rest of his argument. The Louisiana-born physician had saved his life after he’d been wounded at Gettysburg. Now, Paul-Henri LaFont served as his regiment’s surgeon, and Peyton trusted him as much as he trusted Vern and Tommy.
“Tommy, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and I appreciate that you went out of your way to see to Miss Bell’s comfort. Good work.”
“Thank you, sir.” Tommy stood a little taller.
With a grin, Peyton faced Vern. “I’ll head in the direction of the field hospital. This might be a good time to begin questioning Miss Bell. I’d like you to be there to take notes, Major Johnston.”
“Yes, sir.” Vern stood.
“But first, find General Merritt and ask if he has
new orders for us. Then meet me at the hospital.”
“Will do, Colonel.”
When others were within earshot, Peyton and Vern returned to their respective ranks. This was war. They had jobs to do. But, oddly, Peyton’s position suddenly included guardianship over a young lady who evidently had a knack for getting herself into dangerous predicaments. Bathing in the river …
He untied Brogan, who had been grazing several feet away, and tossed the reins over the charger’s large head. Then, putting his foot into the stirrup, he mounted and began the ride toward the tented infirmary. In spite of his displeasure at the irksome task, he dared not give the responsibility of protecting the aspiring little journalist to a subordinate. They’d likely either allow her to sneak off or treat her roughly—or worse if it was discovered that she hailed from Woodstock, a Confederate town.
A year ago last April, he believed her when she insisted that she was “independent minded” like her journalist father. Peyton recalled that particular portion of their conversation clearly. He doubted that she was a threat to the United States Army. What’s more, Miss Bell didn’t strike him as a female who would flaunt herself to garner a man’s attention.
So she was either extremely naïve or ignorantly courageous to bathe inside a soldiers’ campsite, or, as the Almighty might have it, both!
Vern’s question burned in Peyton’s mind. What was he going to do with her?
Carrie Ann climbed the hill behind the hospital tent outfitted in some man’s forgotten blue dungarees that she’d belted with rope, a cambric shirt that hung to her knees, and a dark blue vest that was equally as long. Mama would have a fit if she saw her in this getup. Carrie had repented for putting on that deserter’s uniform. All her life she’d been told it was a sin for women to dress like men. She’d only meant to wear male clothing for a couple of hours, maybe one night, but not two days. Well, it couldn’t be helped—and it was over and done now. At least this present outfit was far better than that smelly wool uniform. She was cooler now, and the long shirt provided a bit more modesty than the Union jacket she’d hemmed before leaving Woodstock.
A Thousand Shall Fall Page 6
