“I’m afraid so.” Though he wanted to turn away, to spare her the horrendous sight, he kept his gaze steady upon her, waiting—waiting to see love sweep away the shock and horror in her eyes.
Instead she lowered her chin and turned her face away. Gripping the banister, she wobbled.
Risking her repulsion, William vaulted the steps between them and grabbed her by the waist before she fell. She stiffened at his touch. Permelia reached her other side and after exchanging a compassionate look with William, led her sister down the stairs and into the parlor.
William hesitated, his insides crumbling. Should he follow? Was he welcome? But Permelia’s gentle smile beckoned him onward.
The servant woman he remembered as a slave brought tea and William chose a cushioned seat in the shadows. Annie sat on the sofa, staring at the cold hearth.
Permelia approached him. “Colonel, please join us.” She gestured toward one of the chairs in the center of the room. “It’s only the shock, I’m afraid.”
“Please call me William.” He heaved a sigh. “And I won’t be staying.”
Annie’s eyes shot his way.
Permelia smiled. “Don’t be silly, William. You’ve no doubt had an arduous journey and are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish.” She made her way to the table and began pouring tea.
“Either way, I have only a week before I must report back for duty.” William shifted in his seat. His gaze wandered to the door, silently chastising himself. He’d put his selfish desire to see Annie above any thought of how the sight of him would shock her. Now he’d upset her. Which was the last thing he’d wanted to do. He should leave.
Miss Permelia handed her sister a cup. “William must stay. Isn’t that right, Annie?”
A visible sob shook his beloved Annie. Sipping the tea, she set it down with a delicate clank as his future, his heart, hung precariously on her response.
“Of course, William. We’ll not hear another word about it.” Annie’s sweet voice brought his gaze back to her, where he was graced with one of her smiles. A smile that warmed him down to his toes—as it always used to do. Hope stirred. Then grew stagnant again as she added, “But surely you must return to your regiment?” It wasn’t so much the question but the expectation in her tone that set William aback.
“After the terms of surrender were signed, my commanding officer granted me a month’s leave.” He coughed. “To settle my affairs.”
Annie spread her skirts around her in a festoon of velvet braids and ruffles. “You must forgive me, William.” She raised the back of her hand to her mouth, sorrow crumpling her features. “Seeing you… like this… it is such a shock.”
Miss Permelia gave her sister an odd look before she settled into a chair between them. “William was injured in the war, Annie.”
“Of course. I can see that,” Annie snapped. Then the sharp lines of her face softened. “I’m so sorry, William. I hope you didn’t suffer.”
Not nearly as much as he was suffering now. “No, not overmuch.”
Rising, Annie swooshed to the mantel, eyeing the gilded clock and bronze figurines sitting atop it. “We feared you had died.” Yet there was no fear in her voice.
Permelia sipped her tea. “It is very good to see you, William.”
“Yes, of course.” Annie forced a smile, tried to look at him, then glanced back at the mantel.
Unease prickled over William, his thoughts traveling to his last visit to the Shaw estate—when he’d been welcomed with open arms, enjoyed the richest foods, the southern charm of Mrs. Shaw, and the hustle and bustle of a prosperous tobacco plantation. “Where are your mother and father? Your brother?” William sipped the bitter tea. He never did enjoy it without sugar.
“They are all gone.” Miss Permelia stared at the teacup in her lap. “Except perhaps Samuel. We do not yet know his fate.”
“I hate this detestable war! It’s taken everything from me!” Annie fisted her hands beneath lacy cuffs.
Gone. William nearly dropped his cup. Instead, he set it down on the table beside him and rose. He longed to swallow Annie up in his arms, comfort her. “How? When? Why didn’t you tell me in your letters?”
Annie’s brow crumpled.
Permelia shifted in her seat. “Father died at Cross Keys. And Mother became ill and joined him last year.”
“So it is just the two of you here?”
“And Elijah, Martha, and Ruth,” Miss Permelia said.
Sorrow, coupled with alarm, assailed William. “How have you managed?”
Annie sank to the sofa in a sob, drawing a handkerchief to her eyes.
“Better than most.” Miss Permelia moved to sit beside her sister. “We keep a garden and Elijah hunts. In addition, by God’s grace, we hope to harvest our first crop of tobacco this year.” Golden specks of hope and sincerity sparked in her eyes.
William wondered why he’d never noticed how beautiful they were before.
“We’ve had to sacrifice so much.” Annie’s voice broke, tearing at his heart.
A lump formed in his throat. “I’m so sorry. You never mentioned it.” He could only surmise that in her selfless love, Annie had wanted to keep him from worrying while he was on the battlefield. Warmed by the thought, he gazed about the room, noting the rosewood center table, painted porcelain vases, gilded mirror and assorted oil paintings hanging on the wall, and the mahogany Grecian sofa upon which Annie sat. “But how were you able to keep so many of your nice things?”
Clutching her handkerchief, Annie straightened her back and glanced out the window. “We’ve made friends with some of the Union soldiers.”
“Ah, then we are not all such bellicose toads?” William chuckled.
A smile flickered then faded on Annie’s lips. “Why have you returned, William?” Her eyes swept to his. And finally remained.
And it gave him the impetus to answer her question.
“To marry you, Annie. If you’ll still have me.”
Chapter 3
Permelia set the candle atop her dressing bureau and knelt beside the trunk at the foot of her bed. Her heart felt as heavy and dark as the sultry night lurking outside her window—a night that barely entertained a whisper of a breeze to stir the curtains framing the leaded glass. Silver moonlight spilled upon the woven rug and toyed with the hem of her gown as if trying to improve her mood.
Wiping moisture from her eyes, she chastised herself. She should be happy for her sister. Happy that William had returned to claim her as his bride. Deep down, she was happy for Annie. Although at the moment, that joy seemed smothered by her own selfish agony. Please forgive me, Lord.
Oh, why hadn’t Annie answered William’s question? If he had asked Permelia to marry him, she would have leaped into his arms on the spot. Instead, Annie had promised to discuss his proposal tomorrow and promptly left the parlor. Perhaps she engaged in some sort of amorous dalliance, as she often liked to do with men—flirtatious behavior Permelia had never quite mastered.
She opened the trunk and drew her mother’s shawl to her nose. The slight hint of jasmine still lingered on the cashmere. She breathed it in, wishing her mother were still in her chamber a few steps down the hallway. Though they’d never been close—not like her mother and Annie had been—Permelia missed her terribly. And if there was ever a time she needed a mother’s advice, it was now. Now when her heart was a jumble of discordant thoughts and feelings. Most of which she’d never experienced before.
Setting the shawl aside, she pulled out the bundle of letters and held them against her chest.
Ah, William! He was here! She could hardly believe it.
The air stirred outside her window, fluttering leaves and entering her room to caress her face—as she had longed to do with William’s. To caress away his pain, kiss away his scars. Lowering the bundle to her lap, she brushed her fingers over the crinkled vellum. Such sweet words they had shared, such intimacies, dreams, and hopes.
A tear slid down her cheek and plo
pped onto the paper. She quickly dabbed it with her sleeve, lest it destroy one precious word. But these letters were not meant for her. William thought he had been writing to Annie. When he penned each word, each loving phrase, it was Annie’s face that filled his thoughts, his heart.
Not Permelia’s.
“Oh, Lord, I never meant to deceive him. Please forgive me.” She squeezed her eyes shut as more tears escaped. She had only meant to comfort him. To give him hope in the midst of the horrors of war. Words from someone who cared. But when William had mistook her signature, P. A. Shaw, for Annie, and his letter had been so filled with joy at hearing from her, Permelia hadn’t the heart to tell him that Annie had given up writing to him.
That she had turned her affections to another.
Then the years passed and the letters continued, and Permelia found herself waiting for each missive with giddy expectation. For out from the penned words, emerged a hero. A man of honor, nobility, and courage. Yet with a kind, gentle heart and a wit that never failed to make her smile.
And she had fallen in love with him.
But now, he had come for Annie. As it should be. Permelia should be thankful that she had been able to offer William some solace during his darkest hours. Placing a gentle kiss on the bundle, she put them back in the chest, covered them with her mother’s shawl, and closed the lid. At least she would always have his letters. No one could take away the precious words she’d shared with William.
A cloud swallowed up the moonlight, leaving her with only the flicker of a single candle to chase away the gloom.
God, help me to forget him. Help me to be happy for him and Annie. If not, she feared she would shrivel up and die.
William stood beside the men under his command. Ten companies in all. Behind them, Union soldiers lined up like incoming waves before a storm. Early morning fog shrouded the field in a white veil, muffling the sounds of boots on grass, the cocking of rifles. The heavy breaths of jittery soldiers. The frenzied thud of their hearts.
The crack, crack, crack of gunfire split the mist. A flock of birds fluttered into the sky and disappeared.
“Fire!” William shouted. The soldiers raised their guns and ignited thunderous pandemonium.
Enemy bullets whined past William’s ears. “Forward march!” The men parted the tall grass.
Yellow flashes sparked in the distant mist.
The air filled with smoke and screams and ear-pounding explosions. William grabbed the man to his right to usher him forward. He toppled to the dirt. A red pool bubbled from his chest. His eyes gaped toward heaven in vacant shock.
William crumbled beside him.
The boy was only eighteen. William had met his mother back in Philadelphia and had promised her he’d look out for him. Brushing his fingers over the boy’s eyes, he closed them forever.
A cannonball struck the ground nearby. The shock sent William flying. He landed in mud. Pain throbbed in his shoulder. A loud buzzing filled his ears. Accompanied by the thump, thump of his heart. Shaking his head, he looked up just in time to see the tip of a Rebel saber headed for his chest.
William snapped his eyes open. The blur of thick timbers crisscrossing the ceiling came into focus. The cluck, cluck of a chicken sounded. Where was he? He shot up and gazed over the gloomy room. Sunlight speared through small glass windows on either side of a door, which stood slightly ajar. A chicken perched in the entryway, staring at him. She clucked, bobbed her head up and down, then ruffled her back feathers and left.
He snorted. Even a chicken couldn’t stand the sight of him.
Tossing his legs over the side of the cot, William raked both hands through his hair and drew in a deep breath, wondering when the nightmares would stop. He rubbed his sore neck and took in the one-room house that had once been the slave quarters. At least that’s what Miss Permelia had told him when she and Elijah had escorted him there last night. Since it wouldn’t be proper for him to stay in the main house, and the overseer’s quarters had been burned to the ground last year, this was all they had to offer. Little did Miss Permelia know that compared to where he’d been sleeping the past four years, these quarters might as well be a room at the Fifth Avenue Hotel in New York.
He struggled to his feet, stretched out the aches still resident from his long ride, and made his way to the washbasin with one thought in mind. Annie. After making himself as presentable as possible, he intended to spend the day with her. Woo her and charm her like he used to do before this hellish war had separated them. He stopped to ensure the letters were still safe in the coat he’d slung over the back of a chair. He drew them out, flipped open his knapsack, and gently placed them inside. Better not to carry them around and risk losing them.
For to him, they were the essence of the woman he loved and the reason his sentiments for Annie had grown so deeply, despite his extended absence—despite her reaction to him last night.
Cringing at the memory, he made his way to the basin Elijah had filled with water. How could he blame her? Perhaps William should have written of his arrival. Perhaps he should have written about his scars. Deep down, he supposed he’d hoped they wouldn’t matter; he’d hoped the woman he’d grown to love wouldn’t care.
But what he hadn’t considered was how much suffering Annie had faced in the past four years. Besides, when he’d posed his question of marriage last night, she had not turned him down. In fact, he thought he saw a spark of love in her eyes.
Halting before the worn chest of drawers, William gazed at his reflection in the mirror. Sunlight rippled over his puckered flesh, accentuating the purple divots and the pale, distended skin. He slammed his eyes shut. Would he ever get used to the sight? How could he expect someone as beautiful as Annie to love such a monster?
After washing and shaving, he donned a fresh uniform, minus his coat, and headed outside. The smell of freshly turned dirt, horseflesh, and wild oregano combined in an oddly pleasant scent as his glance took in the wide expanse of the plantation. Behind the main house stood the kitchen, dairy, and smokehouse. Off in the distance the barn rose stark before the encroaching forest. To its right stood the stables, once brimming with horses, but now eerily silent.
Laughter drew his gaze to a field to his left. He halted at the sight of a woman, hoe in hand, tending the soil beside Elijah. Curiosity drew him toward her. Surely Miss Permelia hadn’t meant that she worked in the fields. Absurd!
Yet, as he came closer, his suspicions were confirmed, for there she stood, dirt smudged on her arms and neck and perspiration beading on her brow. The hem of her cotton skirt was gathered and tucked within her belt, revealing a soiled petticoat and ankle boots covered in mud. But it was the healthy color of her cheeks and the way the sun flung golden ribbons through the brown hair dancing about her waist that drew William’s attention.
Shielding her eyes, she gazed up at him and quickly lowered the folds of her gown. “William, good morning. Did you sleep well?” The red on her cheeks darkened.
Elijah leaned on his shovel. “I always slept well in that house. Lots o’ good memories in there.”
William flinched, wondering how a slave could have any good memories. “I did sleep well. Thank you.” He stared at her aghast. “This is hardly suitable work for a young lady.” His voice came out more pretentious than he intended.
“I beg your pardon, Colonel, but this particular lady does not wish to starve. Nor see her sister starve. I hardly think that either of those options would be more suitable than this breech of propriety.”
The way she tossed her pert little nose in the air made him want to chuckle. Instead he cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I meant no insult.”
“Quite all right.” She set her hoe aside and stomped toward him, dirt clumping on her boots. “We’ve already planted the carrots, chard, green onions, and basil.” She pointed to another large field next to what used to be the storehouse, if William’s memory served, where tiny green sprouts dotted the fresh earth.
“And what
are you planting here?”
“Tobacco.” Lifting the brim of her straw bonnet, she gazed over the field. “Our first attempt. Now that the war is over, we hope to be able to make some profit from it like Papa did.”
William wondered how they would manage all the work it required to process tobacco but dared not ask. He had a feeling this resolute woman already had a plan.
She wiped her face, leaving a smudge of dirt. William found it adorable. “You must be hungry,” she said.
He should be. He hadn’t eaten since early yesterday. But his stomach had been nothing but a cyclone of nerves since he’d arrived. “In truth, no. I would, however, like to see Annie.”
Elijah chuckled.
Miss Permelia gazed at the sun. “I fear you’ll have a few hours’ wait. She never rises before noon.”
William jerked at the statement, concern flooding him. “Does she suffer from some malady?”
Permelia shook her head. “It’s the war. It has taken a toll on her, I’m afraid.”
William frowned. “A toll I only increased with my sudden appearance last night.”
Permelia looked at him, neither avoiding the scarred side of his face, nor flinching at the sight of it. “I’m sorry for her reaction, Col—William. She’s not been herself lately.” She gestured toward the small brick house where ribbons of smoke spiraled from the chimney. “Help yourself to biscuits and coffee in the kitchen. Martha and Ruth will be happy to see you.” Gathering her skirts she headed toward the main house. “Forgive me, but I haven’t the time to entertain you properly. I must get cleaned up and head into town.”
Wiping his arm over his forehead, Elijah returned to his work.
“Alone?” William shouted after her.
She faced him. “I need to bring the wild blueberries Elijah and I picked this morning to sell at market, and”—she hesitated—“attend to another matter.”
“Unescorted?” William could not conceive of a woman traveling alone during such tremulous times.
“I have no choice, Colonel. Elijah is needed here.” Her tone was clipped as she marched toward the house.
Central Park Rendezvous Page 22
