A Widow's Salvation (Cotillion Ball Saga Book 8)

by Becky Lower

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  A Widow’s Salvation

  Becky Lower

  Avon, Massachusetts

  Copyright © 2015 by Becky Lower.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  Published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  57 Littlefield Street

  Avon, MA 02322

  www.crimsonromance.com

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-7900-8

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7900-4

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-7899-0

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7899-1

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © iStockphoto.com/Peter Zelei.

  This book is dedicated to America’s armed forces, many who are returning home to the same type of challenges Elijah and his soldiers face in this book.

  Acknowledgments

  As always, I have some special people to thank for bringing this book from an idea to reality.

  First, my good friend Linda, whose knowledge of the opera is unparalleled. Without her, my opera scene would have hit a sour note.

  Second, my friend Miranda Liasson, who has experience as a mother. When Pepper insisted on being a quiet heroine and I couldn’t quite grasp her attitude, Miranda patiently explained that a mother has a different kind of strength from my normally strong, feisty heroines. It took me a while to see Pepper’s inner strengths.

  Third, to AE Jones, who commiserated with me when Pepper insisted on having things her own way. A good critique partner is hard to come by.

  Fourth, Jess Verdi and Annie Cosby, who helped polish this book to a shine. Thank you for all your hard work.

  And last, to my sister, Pat. She makes my life easier, and I hope she feels the same about me.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Family Tree

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  More from This Author

  Also Available

  CHAPTER ONE

  New York City, July 1862

  Pepper Brown yanked open her bedroom armoire and stared at the sea of black. Her widow’s weeds, as people called them. They were showing up in increasing numbers on the streets of New York, on women of all ages. The Civil War's first bloody conflict, Bull Run, marked its one-year anniversary today. Which meant today was also Pepper’s one-year anniversary as a widow. She drummed her foot on the floor while she perused the black dresses. Was she ready to move on? Michael had thought she would be. In fact, he extracted a promise from her before he left for the war. One year and not one day more, he had said. Her mother thought so, too, or she wouldn’t have planned their outing for today. All Pepper now needed was the courage to convince herself they were right. The churning in her stomach told her she had a ways to go yet.

  She straightened and turned her back on the black.

  “Molly, please come help me dress,” Pepper called down the hall to her lady’s maid. “I’m going out today.”

  “Aye, ma’am.” Molly, a young Irish girl with light brown hair and matching freckles across her pert nose, came quickly into the room. “Which gown would you be liking?” She began fondling the various dresses in the armoire.

  “None of these. I’m done with these dresses. Besides, most of them are maternity gowns. I want to wear something fresh, something different.”

  Molly nodded vigorously, and the little white cap on her head bounced askew. She righted it before she spoke. “Perfectly understood, ma’am, and you should be stepping down to half mourning. Perhaps I can find a nice gray or deep purple gown among your other things.”

  Pepper shook her head. “No, no half mourning for me. What kind of silly term is that, anyway? I’m going out with Mother, and I want our day to be special. I want to wear something bright. I think the periwinkle dress Jasmine created for me right before Michael’s death will do. Yes, the periwinkle.”

  Pepper smiled at Molly’s horrified intake of breath. She obviously disapproved, which meant it was the right decision.

  “Periwinkle? Forgive me saying so, ma’am, but isn’t it a wee bit too much of a difference?”

  “Why yes, it is, Molly.” Pepper’s smile grew. “It’s time to be different, don’t you think? Michael would have approved. Go on, now, and find me the dress. It may need a bit of altering, since I’ve still to lose some of the baby weight I’ve put on. It’ll need to be fixed before Mother gets here.”

  “Aye, ma’am, right away.”

  Molly took off at a trot down the hall to the large storage room for clothing, and Pepper closed the doors on the widow’s weeds. She had never expected to be a widow at only thirty-one years of age. She had never expected to have three boys under the age of eight to raise by herself. She had never expected Michael’s last gift to her would be another son, one who was his exact image. The babe had been born hale and healthy, even though she had thought the child would suffer because of her melancholy.

  And, even though she had never expected the life now facing her, she would throw off her widow’s weeds and pick up the rest of her journey on this earth, despite her fears that she’d never be able to pull it off. Today she would dress up in gay-colored clothing, maybe even splash on some toilet water, go to the Army hospital in the Bronx with her mother, and provide a bit of comfort to the many who were wounded. She had no medical experience to draw from, but she could hold a hand, fetch a glass of water, write a letter home. Little things, she reasoned. But a lot of little things could make a difference. She hoped someone had been there on the battlefield to hold Michael’s hand as he took his last breath.

  She brought a fist to her mouth as the tightness in her chest threatened to reduce her again to the sniveling mess she’d been in those first days. Days when she’d gathered information from the papers on how her beloved died alone on some field in Virginia in front of the shameful folks who had driven out from Washington, D.C., with their picnic baskets to witness the battle, only to turn and run when
the battle dragged on and became so bloody. They had expected a fun-filled afternoon as the men strutted about in their fancy uniforms but instead were witness to the first carnage of the ghastly war.

  When Molly brought the dress into the room, the periwinkle gown, with its moiré fabric, sparkled. Yes, this gown was exactly what Pepper needed to become whole again. She ran her hands over the fabric and cleared the threatening tears from her eyes. It was a perfect choice for summer, with short, puffy sleeves trimmed in a creamy lace. The neckline had a modest scoop to it, also adorned with lace. The skirt belled slightly but needed only a few petticoats, for which Pepper would be grateful, since the heat of the day already hung in the air. Molly helped her slip the dress over her head, and Pepper suppressed the urge to laugh out loud. It was so refreshing to wear some other color than black, but laughing hysterically would make Molly further wonder about the state of Pepper’s mental health. They fiddled with the lace at the sleeves and pondered whether to add an adornment of some kind around the waist. Molly pinned the seams on the bodice where a bit of tailoring needed to be done, and Pepper stood in her shift and corset while she waited for Molly’s swift fingers to let out a few seams. The few minutes she waited were all she needed to have her self-doubt creep back in. She had lived her entire adult life conforming to the rules of society. She’d married young, quickly had a family, and thought her life was perfect. Leave the rabble-rousing about women’s rights to her sisters and her mother. Pepper was content with her conventional lot in life. Until now. Now, for the sake of her boys, she needed to move ahead. To find a life after losing her husband. Again she wondered if she was up to the task. They put the dress back on, and Molly fixed Pepper’s hair, pulling some of the dark locks up off her neck but leaving a few curls out of the bun at the back of her head.

  “Well done, Molly,” Pepper said while she toyed with one of the curls draping over her shoulder. “Now, what necklace? It should not be anything too elaborate.”

  Together they made a choice, and then Pepper moved to the drawing room to wait for her mother.

  Her hands were slick with dampness, and she couldn’t quite get her breath. She gazed at her colorful reflection in the mirror above the fireplace, and a stranger stared back at her. How would others react to her bold move past mourning? Her heart clamored momentarily, when the knock came at the door. The butler opened it, and Pepper’s mother, Charlotte, came bounding through. There was no turning back.

  “Oh, my darling, you are lovely.” Charlotte grasped Pepper’s hands and nodded at the gown. “Such a good choice. It matches your eyes.”

  “Thank you, Mother. Molly worried it might be too radical of a change from my black dresses.”

  Charlotte wrapped her arms around her daughter. “It’s time to be radical, though, don’t you think?”

  Pepper brushed her mother’s cheek with a kiss. “Thank you, Mother, for backing me up, for not questioning my choice. I can always count on you.”

  Charlotte played with the lace at the sleeves of Pepper’s dress. “Are you certain you want to start with the hospital, though? It can be a brutal and gruesome place. Maybe for your first foray out, you should join Mabel Wentworth and roll bandages. It’s a necessary task, too. You don’t need to be hands-on in the hospital to make a difference, and it would be a good way to ease back into things. There’s nothing wrong with taking baby steps.”

  Pepper shrugged off her mother’s embrace. “I don’t want to ease back into things, Mother. I want to tackle life head-on, like I did when Michael was alive. And spending an afternoon with the likes of Mabel Wentworth is not what I had in mind.”

  Charlotte tapped her cheek with her finger and tilted her head to one side. “But your life up until now has been a most conventional one. I worry that you’ll try to do too much too soon.”

  Pepper’s inhale of breath broke, as the giant lump in her throat threatened to choke her. “But my traditional life is now over. It’s time to start living again, and if I can, in some small way, make the lives of the soldiers easier, I’m willing to do it. Luke is able to eat some porridge now, so he’ll be fine without me for a couple of hours. It’s time for me to do more than throw off my widow’s weeds. I need to become a productive member of society. The North needs my help, in whatever small way I can give it, to end this war.”

  Charlotte grinned and grabbed Pepper’s hand. “You are absolutely right. Black is not a good color on you, dear. I’m glad the year is over and we can do things together. This is the first day of your new life, and the men at the hospital will be enchanted by your presence. Now, let me say hello to my grandsons, and we’ll be off.”

  Pepper took a deep breath as her mother hustled off to the nursery. She followed to say goodbye to her children, who were in the capable care of the nanny and governess. If her mother approved of her early dismissal of her mourning state, all would be right with the world.

  • • •

  Another cart of battered bodies pulled up in front of MacDougall Hospital in the Bronx. Even though the closest battles were several states away, in Virginia, the wounded had overrun the nearest hospitals, and the men were being shuttled farther north by train and then by wagons from the city out to the Bronx. MacDougall Hospital was one of the largest Army hospitals in New York, and the wagons never stopped coming for long. The Union soldiers who were lucky enough to still walk climbed down from the cart and made their way inside to have their wounds tended to by the nurses. The remainder were hastily carried in on stretchers out of the hot July sun and laid on the floor in the hallway, lined up like cords of wood. Even when the head surgeon, Colonel Elijah Williams, was fortunate enough to leave the hospital, or take a much-needed nap for a short time, the moans and screams of the wounded soldiers were ever present in his ears. There were too many bodies, and he was only one man.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the sun, although he was very familiar with its heat. Already, at this early hour, he was sweating as the temperature in the hospital escalated. Open windows allowed for some movement of the air but also let in the flies, which landed and feasted on the dying men. Sweat, mixed with antiseptic and the pervasive stench of rotting flesh, had been a constant in his nostrils for over a year.

  Elijah marched to the front hallway where the bodies of the dying were dumped, and found two he might be able to save. He directed his assistants to move the two fortunate men to the operating room. The rest he could do nothing for. He ran his hand over his weary eyes, backed up against a wall, and slumped there as he clenched his jaw tightly. War was such a horrible waste of mankind.

  “Oh, Colonel, I’m so glad we found you right away.” A voice came to him through his layers of exhaustion. He opened his eyes to the pleasing countenance of Charlotte Fitzpatrick, who placed a hand on his sleeve and peered up at him. Beside her was a new lady volunteer, a vision in bright blue.

  “I’m afraid you caught me taking a breather, Mrs. Fitzpatrick.” Even in his weary state, Mrs. Fitzpatrick never ceased to put a smile on his face.

  “Well, if anyone deserves to take a break, it’s you. This is my daughter, Pepper Brown, who is finally done with her year of mourning. We’re here to lighten your burden a bit. What can we do to help?”

  Elijah’s gaze took in the lovely dark-haired young woman. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brown. I’m sorry for the loss of your husband, but I must say, you brighten up the place.” Much as his deceased wife, Elisabeth, would have done.

  “Thank you, Colonel.”

  He noticed, as she gazed around the room, her lips were drawn into a taut line and her pale skin had lost the little bit of color she had come in with.

  He scanned the men in the room and lowered his voice. “All the men in the hallway are about to die. Don’t worry about lightening my burden. Do what you can to ease their final minutes. I must get back to the operating room.” His gaze returned to Mrs. Brown. “If you’re not comfortable dealing with these men, perhaps you could go into t
he ward and care for those on the mend?”

  “No.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, before she opened them and stared about her. “It’s the least I can do, to hold a hand or share quiet words of comfort in their final minutes. I only hope someone did the same for my husband before he died.”

  Elijah nodded at her whispered words. “All right, then. Mrs. Fitzpatrick knows her way around, so I’ll leave you in her capable hands. I must go take care of those men who still have a chance.”

  He walked to the stark operating room, where he had to amputate limbs and close gaping wounds on the designated soldiers who might then survive. Even though his focus was on the uninviting work ahead of him, his mind remained with the lovely Mrs. Brown.

  He wondered what battle her husband had been in, since he had no doubt it was this God-awful war that had killed him. He must have died early on in the conflict, since the war was only a year old. Perhaps Manassas. Or at Andersonville prison.

  With a weary sigh, he washed his hands and entered the operating room. A man lay on a table, ready for him. His cursory examination out in the hallway had been accurate. If he removed the man’s shredded leg below the knee, he may avoid becoming a casualty of war and instead just become a cripple. At least he could return to his home and family, and possibly live a full life. If he made it through the surgery and avoided infection afterwards, he still stood a chance.

  Elijah lowered his head, clamped one hand around the man’s leg, and began sawing, all thoughts of Mrs. Fitzpatrick and her lovely daughter gone, for the time being, anyway.

  He completed the amputation, and covered the bloody stump. The man got carted away to an open bed, and Elijah began work on the second fellow. A few hours after he had left the hallway, he returned, searching for someone else who might be able to survive, with his help.

  But he was really searching for a patch of blue. He thought she’d be gone from the hospital by now, but he found her kneeling beside a man, holding his hand, listening to his final words. The man took his last breath while Elijah gazed at them. Mrs. Brown placed the dead man’s hand on his chest, closed his eyes, and with tears in her own, stood. She wavered on her feet, and Elijah rushed to steady her.