by Beth White
Levi laughed for the first time in months and agreed to go.
As usual, his father turned out to be right. Allan Pinkerton expressed himself glad to have a man with such high recommendation from the esteemed Brigadier General Grierson, and from that point on, Levi was too busy to think about the losses in his life—or the shifting winds of the national landscape, for that matter.
Until today. Watching a beautiful woman sitting across from him in a train car, he’d suddenly become aware of how lonely he was. Tonight he would sleep knowing that, if he chose, he could see Selah Daughtry again in the morning. He could discover where her home was and maybe—
Maybe what? He dipped the pen in his inkwell with angry force. How delusional had he become, thinking of seeking out and courting a woman he’d known for less than a day? The men of his unit would roast him until he was fork-tender.
Breakfast. It was only breakfast. There wouldn’t be time to woo her and win her, even if she’d consider taking up with a broken-up ex-soldier like him. A Yankee soldier at that.
He’d served with Union soldiers who hated everyone with a Southern accent, assuming they were all slaveholders and hypocrites. Levi wouldn’t have gone that far, preferring to reserve judgment and treat individuals as he found them. Still, he found his rather dim view of Southern gentlewomen—a class to whom Selah indubitably belonged—belied by her self-deprecating humor and demonstrable courage.
He couldn’t help comparing her to the woman he’d rescued seven years ago. Looking down at her lying on the canopy bed, aware of his dirty boots leaving marks on the rug, he’d tried not to look at the blood on her skirt. She was still breathing, though the bruises on her thin, aristocratic face stood out on the ashen skin.
He’d wanted to hang his head out the window and empty his stomach, but duty demanded that he stand there and face what his unwanted men had done. There was no excuse for abusing a female, even if she was a slave-holding rebel who probably thought she was better than all of them and undoubtedly hated his very soul. It was there in her tear- and pain-drenched blue eyes regarding him from beneath the gaunt arm she’d flung across her brow. And her recoil when he’d picked her up to carry her up the stairs. He’d wanted to assure her that the renegades would be tried and disciplined, sentenced to ten years or more for what they had done to her and the two Negro girls in the kitchen.
But that didn’t seem enough.
“Ma’am,” he said instead, “I’ll send our surgeon back to look after you, if you want.”
She closed her eyes and turned her head.
“All right then,” he said. “But you should know that those men were Union soldiers who’d been recruited by the Confederate Army out of Andersonville prison. They were caught deserting back to our lines after the Battle of Franklin and allowed to rejoin—against my better judgment, I must add. We’re all exhausted and short of rations, but this sort of raiding is—well, ma’am, as I said, there is no excuse for breaking the code of human decency.”
Again the woman remained silent. Perhaps she’d fainted. He leaned down to lay two fingers against her neck, felt a pulse. Relieved, he stepped back, bent to swipe his hand at the dirt on the rug—a pointless exercise—then left the room, closing the door behind him.
He’d sent for the surgeon, waited more than two hours for him to come and see to the injured lady and her two slaves—time he couldn’t really afford, with other orders to execute. He’d sent for the surgeon, waited more than two hours for him to come and see to the lady and her two slaves—time he couldn’t really afford, with other orders to execute. During that miserable interval, he’d found himself irresistibly drawn to the piano in the parlor and allowed himself to sit down and play a sort of elegy to his own idealism.
He didn’t know if the woman survived, but he hoped so. So many things he would do differently if he had the chance—starting with not trusting those men, savages that they were, on their own. Then maybe his conscience wouldn’t have commenced eating his soul by slow degrees.
Returning to Mississippi, thinking about that woman, made all those memories come roaring back. Maybe he should return to that plantation and find out what had happened to the family. He didn’t even know who they were or if they were still in the area. Many planters, having lost their homes, simply moved away to live with relatives elsewhere.
Well, anyway, Selah Daughtry had nothing to do with his assignment. He had a gang of train robbers to track down. The firelight flickered across the report he’d begun—Pinkerton expected daily briefings—and wasn’t this a frustrating development? His only lead dead, and now days lost in finding another. But there had been one odd thing he’d noticed while climbing up and down the bridge trestles, clearing out the rubble of the train wreck as the sun went down.
He’d picked through the remains of what looked like explosive materials near the shattered central truss. His search was conducted in near darkness, and he couldn’t tell how old the materials were. Besides, accidents weren’t unheard of, especially in this part of Mississippi where Union troops had perpetrated heavy damage to rail lines. Levi himself had early on learned to tie a “Sherman’s Necktie” with speed and cunning, heating rails and bending them around trees and any other available stable object. Impossible to tell whether the truss had collapsed due to a gradual weakening or sabotage.
But he made a note anyway. Pinkerton’s training insisted upon careful attention to details, which often broke open a case when pieces came together after long investigations. Of course, rabbit trails also cost time and money, and the previous robberies hadn’t involved explosives. As far as he knew, nothing of value had been taken in this wreck.
Still, he’d best put Selah Daughtry out of his mind and concentrate on what he’d come to Mississippi to do. He finished his report, sealed it in an envelope to be mailed to Pinkerton at the first opportunity, and put the travel desk away.
Rolling out his pallet of blankets, he lay down, firmly closed his eyes, and fell asleep.
And dreamed of brown eyes.
Four
THE NEXT MORNING, Levi knocked at the Spencers’ front door, then stood shifting his weight. The dream from last night lingered in the back of his mind, adding to his discomfort. He had work to do, no time for socializing. So what was he doing here?
He’d turned to leave when Spencer himself opened the door. “There you are! We were just talking about you! Come in, my boy, come in! I hope you’ve brought an appetite, since Mrs. Spencer has fried enough bacon and eggs to feed Lee’s army!”
Which left Levi with nothing to do but take off his hat and follow his host to the kitchen. There he found Selah rocking an infant in a chair by the fire, Wyatt amongst the older Spencer children gathered around a large farm table. Their noisy conversation and giggles stood out in stark contrast to Wyatt’s subdued sadness.
Mrs. Spencer, a comfortable housewife in a ruffled calico apron, turned from the stove to greet Levi with a smile. “And here’s the young man who rescued all those people—my, aren’t you handsome! And look at Miss Selah blush! Marcus, stop drumming on the table before I send Allie out to the muscadine vine to fetch me a switch—I just wish I could have been there to see the heroics!”
Finding nothing suitably self-deprecating to say, Levi simply nodded.
Selah rescued him. “Mr. Riggins was certainly heroic, but so was your husband—driving all the way out to the scene of the accident and back, then offering to let us stay here with you all. Wyatt and I are fortunate to have survived, when so many didn’t.”
Mrs. Spencer’s face softened as she went back to poking at the bacon. “Indeed you are.”
“Have a seat, Riggins.” Spencer pulled out an empty chair, then plunked himself down at the head of the table. “Miss Selah tells us she has an appointment at the bank at ten. Perhaps after breakfast you might escort her there?”
Selah looked at Levi in alarm. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to—I’m sure you must have other obligations—”
&
nbsp; “Nothing that won’t keep for an hour or so,” he said, quashing a surge of pleasure at the prospect of a little more time spent in her company.
“See?” Spencer chortled. “Fate seems determined to throw the two of you together.”
“Fate? James, you might try to make your matchmaking efforts just a tad less obvious.” Eyes twinkling, Mrs. Spencer turned to Selah. “The baby seems to be asleep, my dear. Why don’t you put him in his cradle and come to the table? I believe we’re ready to eat.”
In the hubbub of children giggling and scraping chairs, dishes rattling, and food going round the table, Levi covertly watched Selah lay the baby down and pat his bottom until he stopped squirming. She seemed comfortable in this domestic situation, not at all rattled by their host’s teasing. But when she caught Levi staring at her, she averted her gaze. Apparently, Spencer had observed the exchange as well but contained himself to a smug smile at his wife, who merely rolled her eyes and passed him another biscuit.
When the gargantuan breakfast had been consumed, Spencer brushed crumbs from his vest and wiped his beard with his napkin. “Allie! Caroline! Come here and give Papa a Yankee dime before you go out and feed the chickens.” He laughed as his two youngest daughters each gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.
“Really, James,” his wife said with a good-natured frown, “stop tickling the girls, or you’ll wake the baby. Eugenia, you may check the fireplaces, and Marcus, we need more wood chopped. Perhaps Wyatt wouldn’t mind helping you with that.”
As the uproar subsided, the children dispersing to morning chores, Spencer cleared his throat. “As reluctant as I am to break up this gathering, I’d better go down to the telegraph office to make some more inquiries regarding Wyatt’s relatives before I open the store.”
Selah, who had gotten up to help with straightening the kitchen, hung her dish towel on a hook and slid into a chair across from Levi. “I think I should tell you what I discovered from talking to Wyatt last night and this morning.”
All her movements, Levi had noticed, were precise and economical. He wondered if she ever got flapped—but considering her behavior yesterday during the crash, he didn’t think that likely. If that didn’t do it, nothing would. He couldn’t help smiling.
She wrinkled her nose. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
“Just a pretty smile.” Levi ignored Spencer’s snort and Mrs. Spencer’s giggle. “So what did Wyatt tell you?”
Selah held his gaze, though her cheeks were pink. “Apparently Wyatt’s father was a ranking official with the Mississippi Central, out of New Orleans. A Mr. Priester.”
Levi put down his coffee abruptly. “Wait—Priester—from Tennessee? He was that Priester?” Connections began to fire. Two of the robberies he’d been investigating had resulted in the deaths of rail executives. Perhaps the gang’s motive had been more than simple theft. And perhaps this accident was no accident.
Selah nodded. “Wyatt’s mother died a few months ago, and he seems to think there is no one back in Tennessee who would take him. Now with his father dead, he has no place to go.”
“Poor darling.” Mrs. Spencer gasped. “Oh, James, do you think—”
“No, I do not!” Grimacing, Spencer moderated his tone. “My love, we cannot take in another child, not now, when we’ve just expanded the store. We’ll do all we can to find him a place to go, but—” He shook his head firmly. “We cannot keep him.”
In the ensuing silence, Levi steepled his fingers under his chin and watched the wordless tug-of-war between the married couple. They clearly enjoyed a marriage based upon mutual respect and admiration.
Mrs. Spencer huffed. “I suppose you’re right. But what is the poor child going to do?”
“I’m going to take him with me.”
Levi and both Spencers looked at Selah.
Levi laughed. “What did you say?”
Selah sat bolt upright, flushed and defiant. “You heard me. I promised Wyatt I’d take him home with me.”
Apparently she could get flapped under the right circumstances.
Levi held up a hand. “Nobody’s disagreeing with you. But what is your family going to say to you bringing home an orphan?”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
Spencer slapped a hand on the table. “I think that’s a fine idea, Miss Selah. Since I have the authority to make the decision, you have my blessing. The boy already seems attached to you. Of course, if his relatives are found, we can rethink the situation, but for now . . .” He smiled at Selah. “I believe we can even find funds to purchase his fare.”
Selah looked relieved. “I didn’t know how I was going to—but Providence seems to have ordained this situation, so I shouldn’t be surprised.” She rose, shaking her skirts into orderly folds. “Well, I really must leave for my appointment. Mrs. Spencer, I’ll come back here to collect Wyatt in time for us to meet the afternoon train.”
“All right, my dear.” The matron rose as well. “I’ll make sure he knows you’ll be coming back for him.”
Spencer pushed away from the table. “I’ll fetch our coats. Riggins can escort you to the bank while I head to the station.”
A short time later, Levi and Selah parted ways with Spencer at the town square and turned onto a narrow alley just past the livery stable. Now was his chance to ask about her business with the banker, find out where her home was. He was acutely aware of her gloved hand lightly tucked into the bend of his elbow, the way she kept glancing up at him as if expecting him to speak.
A professional in the art of interviewing ought to have more address than this.
He cleared his throat. “I trust you slept well last night. I mean, of course we already talked about that at the table, but—” He took a deep breath. “Forgive me, but I’m trying to figure out how to discover your home direction and make sure this isn’t the last time I see you.”
She laughed and squeezed his arm. “And here I’d been biting my tongue to keep from offering it unbidden. I’m afraid I’m a bit too forthright as a rule. My family accuses me of a lack of ladylike sensibilities.”
He halted abruptly. “Then I hope you’ll forget their strictures, so that we may be honest in the little time we have remaining. Where do you call home, Miss Daughtry? And would you indeed have any objection to my calling upon you in the near future?”
Her laughter faded and he felt, crazily, as if his life balanced on a pin and could go bouncing off into ecstasy or misery. Only a chance acquaintance, Riggins. Don’t be dramatic.
She nodded slowly. “I’d have no objection. But you should know that my sister, my cousin, and I might be forced to leave our home in the near future. My father was a high-ranking Confederate officer, and to make a long story short, our property—which is quite considerable—has been subject to confiscation under reparations laws.” She met his eyes again, injured pride in every angle of her body. “We spent our last penny fighting it, and I’m hoping the bank will advance us enough to pull us out of debt. If they don’t . . .” She shrugged. “I’m not sure where we’ll end up.”
He impulsively took her hands. “Selah—Miss Daughtry, I appreciate your honesty. After that accursed war, most folks find themselves at sixes and sevens. Thank God it’s over, and we can begin to rebuild relationships and livelihoods.”
Her eyes glossed with tears. “That has been my prayer for some time. It’s just that at the very moment we seem to be breaking out of this—this hole, something else happens to knock the pins out from under us. And now there’s Wyatt—”
“We’ll think of something.”
She sighed. “You just can’t help rescuing, can you?”
“One might say the same of you, Selah Daughtry.”
“It’s a curse of being the eldest.” She gave him a rueful smile. “My sister Joelle calls it interfering.”
“Tell your sister the world needs more of that kind of interference.”
“Joelle does, certainly. She’s the kin
d of person who walks into walls with her nose in a book, while the rest of us endeavor to keep food on the table.” Selah pulled her hands free and took his arm again. “Which is why I must hold on to our plantation.”
“But . . . surely you have extended family. Someone to take you in if you lose the property?” He hoped that didn’t sound too inquisitive.
She sighed again as they walked on. “My grandmother wants us to come to her—my youngest sister has been there for some years now. That’s what I was doing in Memphis—something of a command performance.”
“Ah. The Southern grand dame. I’ve met a few of those.”
Selah laughed. “Indeed. Everyone is quite terrified of Grandmama. Capitulating to her would mean not only leaving the only home I’ve ever known, but giving up the independence I’ve gotten used to.” She wrinkled her nose. “To be blunt, Mr. Riggins, I’m twenty-six years old. I can’t imagine putting myself back under my grandparents’ thumb, my every move scrutinized and questioned, forced to sip tea and embroider samplers—while our home is parceled out to strangers.”
“Hmm. I wouldn’t have guessed you to be such a relic of antiquity.” He glanced down at her face, cheeks flushed by the chill air, eyes bright with indignation. Despite the maturity of her words and expression, she could have passed for sixteen. “Do you mind my asking why you haven’t married? Or perhaps you have, and lost someone in the war . . .”
“To answer that question, you’d have to meet my sister Joelle.” Her lips pursed with humor. “Any female in the same room with her simply pales to insignificance.”
“Until I’m introduced to this paragon, I’ll have to take you at your word.” They stopped in front of the bank. “But perhaps you could give me the direction of your home, so that I might call upon you? I assume your destination is somewhere between here and New Orleans?”
