A Corner of Heaven

by Raine Cantrell

  “No farther, Colter,” she warned in an unsteady voice, moistening her lips, frantic to find something to distract him. She could never repeat the names Alma had called her. She could never tell him the guilt she suffered, the shame she had known for loving him.

  Colter had her within arm’s reach, but he made no move to touch her. He fought for his own control while attempting to find reason for her actions.

  Elizabeth’s gaze darted about the room, lighting on the half-empty box of candy. “Was it your intent to have me in payment for your lavish gifts?”

  “Devil’s bitch,” he swore in a biting tone that was soft, almost too soft. “If it was, madam, I was sorely cheated. That damn clock cost me two thousand dollars in gold.” Colter wasn’t looking at her. He couldn’t. The course of her attack left him feeling raw.

  “Colter! I didn’t mean—”

  His gaze locked on hers. “Didn’t you?”

  Elizabeth felt chilled by his cold countenance. He stood, legs spread apart in a challenging stance; she could see their sinewed strength strain against the cloth of his formfitting breeches. The strong beat of the pulse in his throat kept the same wild cadence as her heart.

  She closed her eyes for a dizzying moment. What in all of heaven had she done?

  “Look at me! No cowardice now, madam,” he intoned in a voice that had brought fear to his men. “Find me a brazen whore bold enough to proclaim her wares worthy of that high a price. Find her, damn you!” he commanded, knowing he was losing control.

  Startled, Elizabeth looked at him again. She shook to see his hands curled into fists at his sides. “Colter, stop. Please, stop.” She raised her hand as if to ward off his blow.

  Colter’s lips compressed until they were almost white. He hadn’t missed her move. “You believe that I would raise my hand to you?”

  “No. No, never you.” Her hand fell limply to her side, but he wasn’t done.

  “Well,” he asked in a mocking tone, “have you nothing else to say? Do you truly believe,” he goaded without mercy, “that my expenses this day were well paid for?”

  “Colter, I…no,” she finished lamely. Dragging forth her courage, she offered him what she hoped he wanted to hear. “If I let you use me from now until you had to leave, I would not be able to repay your generosity.”

  Her eyes were glazed with unshed tears, but he was far too incensed to see them and take pity, or to realize that she lied. She had sliced a raw wound in him and his pride demanded satisfaction.

  “Come here, Elizabeth,” he drawled with soft menace.

  Chapter Seven

  When she didn’t move, he added, “You can’t believe that I want to use you. It all comes back to your not trusting me, doesn’t it?”

  His voice still held menace, but there was hurt, too. He blocked her escape to the hallway. She made the mistake of looking behind her toward the bedroom door. He managed to take two steps closer before she turned back and faced him. To his surprise, Elizabeth came forward.

  “There’s nowhere left to go, is there?” she asked softly.

  Anger seeped from his body. Pride caused his brow to lift with disbelief, but slowly, as slowly as her hand rose to touch his cheek, it ceased its demand for satisfaction.

  “I’ve run you a merry chase this night,” she said, bowing her head as her hand slid down his chest. “So much power in you, Colter. I envy your strength.”

  “Elizabeth, I—”

  “You want so much from me,” she continued in an emotionless voice. “No. Not from me as I am, but from the girl I was.” Lifting her head, she studied his face. “Accept what little I can give you and ask for no more. If you do, Colter, you’ll end up hating me. What has happened changed me. You want to know all. I can’t ever tell you or anyone. But I am not the one who is important, Nicole is. You cannot risk her.”

  “Then let me help you. Being a broker in Europe for my father and his friends has made me financially secure. I can hire an attorney to fight Alma’s claim. I will find out what’s happened to James and I can, if you let me, protect you.”

  She turned away from him. “Colter, if I allow you to do all this, it would take time. What if something happened to me?”

  “I don’t understand. What could happen?” He tried to hold her and draw her close to him, but she stepped out of his reach.

  “If Alma found us, if she took Nicole, I would follow. Alma threatened to kill me. With me dead, James missing and you at war, there’s no one to stop her.”

  “So any query I make, any move—”

  “A whisper could bring her here. If you care anything for my child, don’t draw attention to us, don’t put us at risk.”

  He saw her shudder as the tension left her, but he made no move near her.

  She started toward her room. “Elizabeth, wait.”

  “Good night, Colter.”

  It could not have been more final if she said good-bye. The key grating in the lock to her door left him feeling more than physically shut out; he was overwhelmed by the loss of what could never be reclaimed.

  Elizabeth finished her morning ablutions long before the sun rose. Once again wearing the deep plum skirt with its matching pointed bodice, she forced herself to eat a biscuit spread with honey and sipped a second cup of tea, waiting for Colter to wake. Rather than be alone, she had joined Rutha in the kitchen, finding her undemanding presence calming. Separated from the two-story farmhouse by a covered walk, the kitchen was built of brick, with one entire wall taken up by the massive fireplace and baking ovens. The original homestead was over one hundred years old.

  “Miz Beth, you gonna eat another biscuit?”

  “One was enough, Rutha. Do you want me to take that tray up to Emily?”

  Rutha shook her head, setting the china teapot on the linen-draped tray. After she left, Elizabeth gazed around the room that had once served a farm family for eating as well as cooking.

  The thick wooden trestle table and benches were still there, although she sat on one of the two chairs that had been added. The wash bench, which she and Rutha took turns using, was against the solid wall, along with tubs once used to salt meat. The wooden meal chest remained but was no longer used for food storage since the pantry had been added. A cheese press gathered dust, for there was no cow, and a spinning wheel that was missing a leg sat abandoned in the corner.

  The massive ceiling joists drew her gaze, and Elizabeth tried to picture them as they once might have looked, hung with hams, sides of bacon, onions and the like. It was pleasant to wonder what people had lived here, what laughter and tears they had shared within these walls.

  Mister Josh entered the room, distracting her, and she watched him unload an armful of kindling into the wood box.

  “Day be fine, Miz Beth. Mules be hitched an’ waitin’ jus’ like the colonel ordered.” He helped himself to the dipper hung above the covered barrel of fresh water, drinking thirstily before he replaced the cover and re-hung the dipper. He eyed the basket of biscuits resting on the trestle table. “You et?”

  It was hard not to smile when Mister Josh began his role of caretaker. “There’s plenty more if you want—”

  “Had ’em steamin’ out of the oven. Pleased me see my Rutha not havin’ to scrape by.”

  “You like the colonel, don’t you, Mister Josh?”

  “Well, rides a fine piece of horseflesh, he does. Ain’t a mark on him. Tells a body a piece ’bout a man to be seein’ how he treats his horse.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh. Impulsively she rose and ran to hug him. “You’re just what I needed this morning. I admit I’m a little frightened about this appointment with Secretary Memminger. A good dose of your common sense almost has me believing that if the colonel treats his horse well, a person could expect the same from him.” Elizabeth stepped back and saw the twinkle in his eye.

  “Didn’t say so, Miz Beth. Jus’ sayin’ it’s one way to be judgin’ the measure of ’im.” He looked beyond her, smiling. “M
awnin’, Colonel.”

  Elizabeth turned in time to see Colter nod. He stood in the doorway leading toward the house, one arm raised against the door lintel. She searched his clean-shaven face for a clue to his mood, disappointed when he merely inclined his head in greeting.

  “Rutha made biscuits, Colter. And there’s tea.”

  For a moment longer he hesitated, leaving Elizabeth with the strange feeling that he was unsure of his reception. He came to sit at the table, and she took a china cup and saucer from the open shelves. Once she poured the tea and set it before him, she stood behind him, unable to tear her gaze away from the buff-colored frock coat that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders.

  “Will you join me?”

  Elizabeth looked toward Josh, thinking that Colter offered the invitation to him. But Mister Josh was no longer in the kitchen. Unwilling to further strain the uneasy truce between them, she complied.

  He was already breaking open a second biscuit, lavishly spreading honey and eating it before she had taken a sip of tea. His eyes were closed in pleasure and she found herself smiling.

  Colter caught the smile and his own was boyish. “Rutha’s baking is heaven. The hotel’s chef can’t hold a candle to her,” he said, reaching for a third. “Did she ask you to help her make a list of what other provisions she needs? I promised to bring them back with us.”

  Edging the rim of her cup with one finger, Elizabeth hesitated in answering him. Trust. Colter wanted her to trust him. But if she was honest, she could endanger Rutha.

  “Don’t tell me I have begun this day by committing some unpardonable sin?”

  The words were harsh, but not his tone. Elizabeth looked up and made her decision. “Rutha doesn’t need my help to make up a list of her wants. She is able to read and write.”

  “She what!”

  “Keep your voice down, Colter. You wanted me to trust you. I know it’s forbidden for slaves to be taught, but Rutha and Mister Josh are free. From childhood, they were raised to be house servants in Emily’s family. When her parents died, she offered to have them come live with her, but gave them their papers. And,” she whispered, glaring at him before she leaned across the table and wagged one finger under his nose, “you shall not debate the merits or wisdom of this.”

  Colter kissed the fingertip that tempted him, leaving behind a small smear of honey. Before he could lure it into his mouth, Elizabeth snatched her hand back and, with an innocent, unconscious move that was nonetheless provocative, licked her finger clean.

  Not wishing to provoke himself or Elizabeth, Colter shrugged, finished another biscuit, emptied his cup and, knowing he needed time to carefully word his concerns, used his napkin as if at a formal dinner. When he was done, he leaned back and found her watching him with an arresting expression. He folded his hands across his middle, the deep tan of his skin almost a match for the shade of his waistcoat.

  “Elizabeth,” he began, “what you have told me is a serious matter. You realize I am—”

  “I know who and what you are, Colter!”

  “You trusted me. I have no intent of violating that trust, let me reassure you of that. But I worry should anyone else find out. I know from what you’ve said that you have been isolated from news. But the teaching of slaves to—”

  “I told you, they are not slaves,” she interrupted.

  “To the outside world they are. Teaching them to read and write is illegal. The penalties to Emily would be most severe, and, by association, they would extend to you.”

  “You believe in slavery?”

  He met her gaze with a level look. “I am fighting because I believe in states’ rights to govern themselves. Slavery will die of its own, no matter what the outcome of this war. The economic growth of the Northern cities, the near double amount of railroads in the North, along with their greater number of factories, are all working against our way of life. Because of our longer growing seasons, we’ve been encouraged to be dependent upon the North. Our political, economic and social life has been dominated by the quarter of Southerners who own large numbers of slaves, but that cannot continue much longer.”

  “You never mentioned your feelings before, Colter.”

  “And you never asked. Now, as much as I would like to continue, we must leave to keep our appointment with Memminger.”

  Elizabeth left to get her bonnet. Their brief conversation gave her a better understanding of Colter. She had been right to trust him. Emily would have to be told that he knew, but her step was light as she went outside to join him by the farm wagon.

  “I apologize for our mode of transportation, Elizabeth. I didn’t think to find a carriage horse. I’ll remedy that today.”

  She accepted his lifting her up to the wooden seat and smoothed her skirts as he sat beside her. “Colter, I would feel better if you didn’t buy a horse. The chance of it being stolen—”

  “But you’ll need the carriage to get to the city.”

  “No. I’ll walk. The less—”

  “Attention. Yes, I know.”

  Guiding the team of mules diverted his attention and Elizabeth was content to remain silent. She wished that Colter were going to come with her, for she would need to lie to the secretary, and his presence could be useful.

  As if he had read her thoughts, Colter asked her what she was going to tell Memminger.

  “Did you tell him my name?” she countered.

  “No. I merely asked him to see one of our gallant Southern ladies, a Virginian by birth, orphaned by the war. I did mention that you were in need of work, that your character is exemplary, your penmanship the finest and—”

  “But Colter, you’ve never seen my writing.”

  “A minor detail.” He glanced at her and offered a roguish grin. “Memminger will take one look at you and know I was right.” His gaze coaxed her into a lighter mood, and while her laugh was soft and far too short in duration, it was sweet to hear.

  A few moments later he added, “I believe I forgot to mention that he’ll have in his possession a letter of recommendation from the secretary of war.”

  “I don’t understand. How could anyone write a letter of recommendation without knowing who I am, or my name?”

  “I haven’t compromised you, Elizabeth, so lose that frown. It was a personal favor to me, and he stated only that the bearer of the letter was known to him.” Urging the team around several deep ruts, Colter continued. “I was surprised to learn that more than a few women have approached the president to intercede for them, and none are shy in mentioning other political connections. I deemed it only fair to give you a similar opportunity.”

  Placing her hand on his arm, Elizabeth murmured her thanks, trying to still the flutter of her stomach.

  Colter drove the wagon through the crowded city streets with patience and skill. Elizabeth glanced up at the building before which he stopped, its white stone brilliant in the sunlight.

  “This is now the Note Bureau,” Colter explained, setting the pole brake. “Memminger is waiting inside.” He climbed down and came around to lift her from the seat. The slight tremble of her body alerted him to her nervousness. “We could avoid this meeting if you would accept my help. There’s no need for you to work.”

  Elizabeth, her hands still braced on his arms, glanced down at the plain gold stickpin nestled in the soft fold of his necktie. Its creamy shade almost matched his linen shirt. There was no doubt that he could easily support her, but it was a choice she couldn’t accept. “I didn’t realize you intended to come with me.”

  “I won’t be cheated of one moment with you and the matter is not open for discussion. But you haven’t answered me.”

  “Accept my decision, Colter. It is the only one I would be comfortable with.”

  Her sweet smile of gratitude warmed him, although he wanted more, so much more from her. He contented himself with the knowledge that her acceptance of his company was a step in the right direction. Offering his arm, he escorted her into the former
LeFebre Female Academy.

  Christopher Memminger, with his sharp, deep-set eyes and manner as stiff as his high starched wing collar and thickly waved hair, proved to be gracious about having his day disrupted. Elizabeth had a feeling that if Colter had not been with her, her time with the secretary would have been short.

  As agreed, Colter introduced her by her maiden name of Hammond. He also added that she was from King George County, which caused her to start. How could he have known her letters to Memminger were signed as such? She intended to question Colter later.

  Completely at ease, Colter waited until the secretary had finished reading the letter of recommendation. “If you need more,” he drawled graciously, “I am sure that Randolph, Seddon or Letcher would be happy to comply. Of course, Miss Hammond is far too modest to prevail upon our first lady, but I know that Varina Davis would personally endorse her application.”

  “No need, no need,” Memminger answered, tossing the letter down amidst the clutter of his desk. “If you would be so kind as to supply me with a sample of your penmanship, Miss Hammond, I am sure we can find a position for you as a note signer. You will be expected to signature or number at least three thousand notes per day. The hours are not strenuous—nine to three o’clock, five days a week. You will be assessed ten cents for each note that is marred or defaced, or should you blot the signature. Salary is sixty-five dollars to start—per month, that is—and we dock three dollars a day for each day that you miss work, unless you supply a physician’s excuse. Now, have you any questions?”

  Elizabeth, having written her name down one side of the paper he had handed her, looked up and shook her head.

  Memminger reached out and she handed him the paper. Without comment, he tossed it aside and rose. “If you would like, I will show you where you will be working.”

  “Yes, I would. This is very kind of you and I—”

  “The secretary is more than happy to do it, Elizabeth,” Colter stated, sharing a look with Memminger over her head.

  Colter once again offered his arm, and they followed Memminger to the upper floor. Elizabeth stood in the doorway and looked over the workroom, finding it bright and attractive. Women sat at long tables or desks, each busy with her task. Elizabeth had hoped she would be able to meet at least one of the women, but Memminger glanced at his pocket watch and they left.