The door to her bedroom swung open.
She froze.
“Carrie Ann, I heard noises—”
The door closed again.
Peyton released her.
“Oh, good gracious!” Aunt Ruth stepped forward. Her gray hair was braided and fell over one shoulder. Clad only in her nightgown and wrapper, she clutched a rifle in her hands. “Peyton, is that you? What on earth are you doing here? I heard a man’s voice, and I thought Carrie Ann was in trouble.” Aunt Ruth arched a brow. “Perhaps she is, although I won’t shoot my own nephew.”
“I’m much obliged.” Peyton crossed the room. He took the rifle from Aunt Ruth’s hands. “I understand you’ve married me off.”
Discomfort quickly replaced passion inside of Carrie.
“I reckon I did at that. The words just flew out of my mouth.”
“Well, how ’bout that.” He set the safety on the gun. “And you’re pleased with the match?”
“Extremely.”
“Ah, your approval at long last.” He handed the weapon back to his aunt.
“No need for sarcasm, my dear boy.” The older woman’s expression brightened as her gaze lit on Carrie. “But I do adore this precious girl you sent here.” She tipped her head to one side. “But perhaps you wanted my approval, eh?”
Peyton let go of a long sigh.
“So I went ahead and I had our attorney, Horatio Finch—you remember him, don’t you, Peyton?”
“Of course.”
“Yes, well, I asked him to draw up the appropriate papers, as I told him that you and Carrie Ann had a battlefield ceremony minus the legalities.”
“I see.” Peyton folded his arms.
“What are you talking about?” Carrie asked.
Peyton turned to her. “I believe my aunt is declaring that she would like us to marry. You see, I have a trust fund that I cannot have access to until I am married. If something should happen to me—”
“Oh, my dear girl, I’m sorry to hurry things along like this,” Aunt Ruth said, “but desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“Aunt Ruth, what am I going to do with you?” Peyton hung his head back and released another sigh, this one born from obvious exasperation. Then he gazed at Carrie again and apologies filled his eyes. “I would never want to blemish your reputation or hinder your future plans, Carrie.”
“You never would.” Her mind was still reeling from what they were implying. Marriage to Peyton—for real?
“Would you find marriage to me abhorrent?” He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Of course, I could be killed in battle and then you would be a very rich widow.”
“Don’t say such a thing!”
“I’ll get the papers.” Aunt Ruth left the room.
Peyton watched her go. After she’d closed the door behind her, he looked back at Carrie. “You don’t have to go along with this … insanity.”
“You don’t either.”
His gaze narrowed as he considered her reply and, perhaps, his options. “Once it’s done it may be hard to undo. There is the option of annulment, I suppose, but if it’s discovered that you were married, despite the circumstances and outcome, it could haunt you for the rest of your life.”
“I’m not the least bit concerned. To be honest, marriage to you, even premature and dangerous, is more acceptable to me than a so-called ‘safe’ marriage to someone else I don’t love and never will.”
“You say that now, but—”
“My mind’s made up.”
“I see.” He folded his arms and stared down at her. “Have you considered the possibility of someone recognizing you as having lived in Woodstock? Being a Union officer’s wife makes you a traitor now in parts of Virginia and throughout the Confederacy. It’s just fortunate that Eli is behaving so graciously.”
Carrie inclined her head. “I’ve considered the consequences, yes.”
“If guerrillas capture you, it could develop into a terrible hostage situation.”
“Pity the guerrillas who capture me,” Carrie quipped, hoping to lighten the atmosphere.
Peyton didn’t appear amused.
She forced her smile to disappear.
“Listen to me.” Peyton held her by the shoulders. “I don’t want you going anywhere by yourself. Don’t trust your protection to Eli. Take Tommy with you, even if you’re simply going for a stroll up the block.” His steady gaze and solemn expression said he meant each word. “Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Peyton inhaled deeply through his nose, released her, and appeared thoughtful again.
“We’ve discussed me, but what about you and your future goals?” It had been one of Carrie’s more troubling thoughts, although Peyton seemed to enjoy kissing her moments ago. Perhaps Aunt Ruth was right and he did have feelings for her.
Even so …
“I’m a serving girl from Woodstock, Peyton, and everyone’s been saying how I’m not like any of your ‘usual women.’”
“Feel complimented. As for your position at the Wayfarers Inn, I know what it entailed and the reasons surrounding your employment. This war has pushed people into positions they wouldn’t normally deem suitable.”
“But would my past damage your future in the military?”
“I highly doubt it.” He shook his head. “Carrie, your background and my career are about the furthest things from my mind. Your safety and happiness are paramount.”
“I’m safe … and I’m very happy here.” She adored Aunt Ruth, but the notion that she’d been a pawn in the older woman’s grand scheme was disconcerting, if not insulting. Regardless, Carrie was certain of her love for Peyton. “You’re the finest, most honorable man I’ve ever met. So, in short, if you want me to go along with this ruse, I will.”
“A ruse … yes, of course, that’s all this is.”
Why did he appear hurt?
Aunt Ruth returned with an envelope and handed it to Peyton. He opened it and unfolded the papers requiring his signature.
“I don’t have time to read between the lines of all the legal jargon, Aunt Ruth.” He scanned the documents. “I will trust everything is in order.”
“I’ve read them over three times. They’re in order.”
Carrie stood by, feeling more like an observer than a bride.
Peyton took the proffered pen from his aunt.
“Once I provide the papers to Mr. Finch,” Aunt Ruth added, “he’ll take care of the rest. Within weeks, the bank will release the money in your trust. What a blessing it will be to Carrie, Tabitha, and me. However, I think it’s best to keep the funds in Washington for now or the Confederacy will confiscate them.”
“Agreed.”
“And Carrie Ann will become the legal heiress to the Collier estate.” Aunt Ruth smiled at her.
“Me? But shouldn’t you be the heiress, Aunt Ruth?”
“My dear girl, I’m no spring chicken.”
Peyton glanced at Carrie, but then lowered his gaze to the papers in front of him as if he’d decided against a retort.
He finished scribbling his signature on the numerous pages before looking at Carrie again. “I know this is all so hurried, but do you mind? In the event of my untimely demise, will you manage the details of my trust?”
“The subject is one I’d rather not think about. I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.”
“I’m not saying it will happen, but if it does, will you promise me that you’ll always take care of Aunt Ruth and Tabitha?”
“I will. I promise.” She didn’t have to consider it.
“As for this marriage ruse, Carrie, you and I will discuss it further at a later date.”
“Aunt Ruth …” He kissed the older woman’s cheek. “Behave yourself, if you can.”
She clucked her tongue at him.
Carrie followed Peyton to the bedroom door. How she wished their marriage wasn’t a farce.
His hand found hers and he brought her fingertips to
his lips. “Thank you, my dear wife.”
Carrie did her best to hide her disappointment. She wished they were alone so she could send her new husband off with a proper good-bye. But, of course, their marriage was in name only. A legal agreement between them. She’d uttered a single vow and it had nothing to do with their union.
“Farewell, ladies.”
“Godspeed. I will continue praying for you every day.”
“I covet those prayers.” Leaning forward, Peyton pressed a kiss on her cheek. Then he donned a floppy brown hat. “I will see myself out.”
With that, he took his leave.
“So let me get this through my thick head,” Vern said once they’d skirted Confederate guards and crossed the Opequon. “You did what exactly?”
“I got married.”
Up ahead, dwindling firelight flickered from the Union camp, and Peyton’s three additional cavalrymen galloped toward it. Peyton slowed his mount so he and Vern could talk and wouldn’t be overheard by patrolling vedettes.
“Married? As in you and Miss Bell?”
“Yes, but we’re only sort of married.”
“Excuse me? You’re either married or you’re not—it’s like either you’re dead or you’re not.”
“An uplifting analogy, Reverend.” He chuckled.
“You know what I mean, Peyt.”
He explained the situation in short. “So I signed all the legal documents. I must admit, marriage to Carrie solves a lot of problems. Money, for one thing. The conditions of the release of my trust are that I reach the age of twenty-five, which I accomplished three years ago, and that I’m married. As of tonight, both requirements are filled. Secondly, I now have peace of mind that Aunt Ruth and Tabitha will be looked after in the event of my death.”
“And if you survive? You’re a married man now.”
“I realize that.” Peyton had no regrets. None.
Vern was silent the rest of the way into camp. After dismounting, they deposited their saddles and gear in their respective quarters, and then met back outside. After finding a pot of coffee, they filled their tin cups just as rain began to fall. They ducked into the officers’ mess tent.
“About this marriage business,” Vern said. “Have you prayed about any of it?”
“Maybe, but not in words exactly.” The feeling was difficult to express. “Have you ever done something, Vern, that’s seemingly on a whim, but then it becomes evident that you made the right choice because you can feel it down in your soul?”
“I’m sure I have, although I can’t think of a particular instance.” Several moments of silence ticked by. “It’s quite obvious that Miss Bell has feelings for you, Peyt. While marrying her might have seemed to solve immediate troubles, what happens at the war’s end? Will she be a suitable helpmeet to you?”
“Of course,” Peyton countered. The more he thought about it, the more sure of it he felt.
“Then you’d best make this thing right by God and have a ceremony, take your vows.”
“You’re right.”
Peyton had been considering little else since leaving Winchester. He hated the thought of his arrangement with Carrie ending. He couldn’t imagine her going off on her own, unprotected and vulnerable. What’s more, the idea of another man holding Carrie in his arms, kissing her …
Peyton felt a vein begin to throb in his neck.
Unacceptable!
Peyton tossed his coffee. The stuff had been on the campfire far too long. “Vern, the truth is I’m in love with Carrie.”
“I observed as much, but I wanted to hear you admit it.” He chuckled.
“You’re an exasperating friend, Vern Johnston.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Peyton grinned. “You’ll be pleased to know that I’m willing to formally ask for Carrie’s hand in marriage if she finds her father. At this point, she can’t even be certain that he’s alive, although she hopes he is, of course.”
Vern took a swallow of coffee. “I wish I could do the honors, but I’m not a licensed minister in Virginia.”
“Will you stand as a witness?”
“I’d be honored.”
Peyton would let Aunt Ruth take care of finding a preacher. “On that favorable note, I shall bid you good night.” He stretched. “Now that I’m a married man, I’m going to write and propose to my wife.”
“I hope she says yes.”
A grunt of amusement, and then Peyton jogged to his quarters in the pouring rain.
CHAPTER 21
September 17, 1864
“Ooh! Ooh!” Tabitha’s excited voice reached the parlor before even her shadow did. “You won’t believe what happened to me in town today.”
Alarm rang through Carrie as she exchanged concerned glances with Aunt Ruth.
“Carrie Ann and I are in here, Tabitha dear.”
The housekeeper entered and closed the sliding paneled doors behind her. “You won’t believe what happened!”
“Do tell, Tabitha, before you keel over from apoplexy.”
“It’s a letter from our boy.” She pushed an envelope into Aunt Ruth’s hands.
Peyton!
Aunt Ruth mouthed his name for Carrie’s benefit, although the silence wasn’t necessary. The only other person in the house was Tommy. Earlier this morning, the Rebel army had moved out, leaving behind fear and disappointment from secessionists and garnering speculation from loyalists. Last night Union troops burned mills along Opequon Creek. Tommy had cheered the Yankees, and not before Carrie could hush him up. She expected Colonel Kent to issue a reprisal as he overheard the exclamation, but none came.
Turning her gaze to the missive in Aunt Ruth’s hands, Carrie guessed Peyton wrote of his misgivings regarding their marriage charade. It had been an entire week since Peyton stole into her room like some gallant knight, looking in on her welfare. He’d kissed her so thoroughly yet exquisitely that the memory of it still caused her limbs to feel like jelly and sent her heart beating in double time.
But even knights eventually came to their senses.
“Well, what does it say, Miss Ruth? Rip open that envelope. What you waiting for?”
“Give me a moment, Tabitha, and I shall tell you.”
Carrie hid a grin at the older women’s squabbles. While they parried verbally, neither was ever mean or vicious. What a difference from the home in which Carrie had grown up. Mama never parried; she used words to assault and maim, and poor Papa had been the most wounded of them all.
Aunt Ruth extracted three sealed envelopes. “A note for each one of us.”
Tabitha quickly unfolded her note and scanned it. “Our boy wants his favorite pies waiting for him when he comes home. He asks that we pray for peace and a swift end to this war.” She paused. “Amen to that!”
“No doubt Peyton is anxious to spend time with his new wife.” Aunt Ruth grinned.
A smile broke out across Tabitha’s face, and her dark eyes twinkled as she looked at Aunt Ruth. “Glory, but our boy’s probably gone and invited General Sheridan and General Merritt to dinner when the time comes. Maybe General Custer too. I’d best get to planning the menu.”
And Tabitha has a renewed sense of purpose. Carrie smiled.
“Don’t you smile, Carrie Ann. You’re washing windows right next to me so this house is spic-and-span when them Union officers arrive.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She glanced down at her boots so Tabitha wouldn’t see any remaining mirth.
Aunt Ruth opened her letter and several dollar bills fell out. “Oh, praise be to God! I wondered how we’d purchase supplies now that Eli and his troops have marched off. I must admit that in spite of the Confederate invasion of our home, we were all treated respectfully and ate well. Eli saw to it.”
Carrie couldn’t argue either, although a couple of days after Peyton’s clandestine visit, one of Colonel Kent’s subordinates rummaged through her bedroom and made a horrible mess. Thank God that she’d hidden her journal and the other pe
rsonal items she’d acquired under a loose floorboard just as Aunt Ruth directed.
“Peyton writes that he hopes we’re all well and that he looks forward to seeing us soon. He asks for prayer for the army.”
Aunt Ruth gave a sigh that sounded like a mix of wistfulness and distress. At last her hazel eyes lit on Carrie. “What does your note say, my dear?”
“It says …” Carrie unfolded it. “My dear wife.” She giggled at the jest, the same one he’d used before he left a week ago. “I have contemplated my impulsive actions and humbly apologize for them …”
Carrie stopped reading and refolded the epistle. She knew what was coming. Rejection. And why not? As Peyton had written, it was an impulsive decision on his part. He’d had little more than five minutes to think about marriage to her. Carrie, on the other hand, was afforded nearly two weeks in which to playact the role of his wife—a role that oddly came quite naturally to her.
“I think I’ll read the rest upstairs.” She slipped the note into her skirt’s pocket. She wasn’t about to let Aunt Ruth and Tabitha see her cry. “Please excuse me.”
Aunt Ruth halted her and Carrie blinked back the tears already threatening. “You may have assumptions about Peyton’s opening remarks and apology, but I urge you not to discard his letter before reading its entirety.”
“I’ll read it.”
“And then tell us what it says.” Tabitha put her fists on her hips and peered down at her. “Ain’t right that our boy writes you a whole book, but we only got three sentences.”
“Mercy, Tabitha! Peyton has a lot to say to his new wife,” Aunt Ruth chided, “and that letter is Carrie Ann’s personal business.”
“We shared ours. It’s only fair that she shares hers.”
Carrie left the parlor and hurried up the steps. In the privacy of her room, she extracted Peyton’s letter with shaky fingers. Then she closed her eyes and lifted her face upward, whispering a quick prayer for … fortitude.
She opened the letter and skimmed what she’d already read before continuing.
You deserve better than my hasty signature. You deserve a ceremony with ribbons, cake, champagne, and a houseful of wedding guests. I would like the chance to give you that—and more.
A Thousand Shall Fall Page 22
