Shadow of Dawn

by Diaz, Debra

  As indeed she had, and very convincingly, Catherine thought.

  Bart met with his accomplices on Sunday afternoons when he was supposedly playing cards. These men helped plan the delivery of the information to the Yankees. Directly overhead was “Andrew’s” room and Clayton, by lying down with his ear to the floor, had been able to hear their conversations.

  On other days, as himself, Clayton watched Bart’s comings and goings and took note of anyone with whom Bart conversed. He knew the identity of all Bart’s accomplices, save the one who actually gave them their orders and conveyed the stolen information to Bart.

  “It’s a thousand wonders you weren’t caught,” Catherine interrupted to say, when Clayton explained how he would leave and reenter the house through Andrew’s bedroom window.

  “It was a small risk,” he replied. “None of your neighbors can see into your backyard. It was a matter of Mrs. Shirley playing lookout…two candles in her window meant the coast was clear. She’s never forgiven herself for the time you caught me.”

  “I was looking out the window by the stairs. It’s high up and no one ever uses it. I just happened to be standing there.”

  “At any rate, she had given me the signal and was waiting for me to climb up when she heard us talking out on the balcony. She didn’t know what was going to happen, so she put on my clothes and got into

  bed.”

  “Most improper,” Catherine said with mock sternness.

  “Yes,” he agreed, smiling.

  “And why,” she asked, “did you interview yourself?”

  “It was all part of the…deception. I didn’t want anyone, least of all you, to make a connection between ‘Andrew’ and ‘Clayton’ arriving in the city at about the same time, and never being seen together. Mrs. Shirley and I spent that hour playing chess.” His eyes twinkled. “She beat me.”

  Catherine put her hand to her temple and shook her head. “I can’t believe all this.”

  “Also,” he said, his voice so low and serious that she looked up at him, “I did it because I wanted to be able to say good-bye…as myself, not as Andrew. There will be a battle, very soon, and I’ll be leaving.”

  “What do you mean? Where will you go?”

  “I’ll go to be with Lee’s army. I don’t propose to sit tight somewhere when Lee desperately needs every available man. I’ve already cleared it with the War Department. From all indications this is going to be a big one.”

  “And…you’re not planning to come back?”

  He said quietly, “I hope to be finished here in a few days. There won’t be any reason to come back.”

  She got to her feet and it was her turn to wander about the room. Her hands trailed along the edge of the doctor’s desk and she looked at the books as Clayton had done, without seeing them.

  “And what will happen to Bart?”

  “He’ll be arrested shortly. In the meantime, he won’t know his letter was never delivered. We’ll intercept his mail and he won’t receive any telegrams. I’ve already sent men to arrest Hadley and his group. They’ll say Hadley had the letter in his possession when he was captured, so Bart will have no reason to be suspicious of you. But this may, finally, flush out his leader, for whoever he is, he may begin to question the loyalty of those working for him.”

  “You said that, as Andrew, you would disappear. How are you going to do that?”

  “The plan was that he would just leave one night…go home to Alabama.

  He was to leave you a note explaining that he needed some time alone, to plan your future together. Then, you would later be informed that he had died on the way.”

  “That would have hurt me a great deal,” she murmured, running her finger down the spine of a well-used book.

  “I know that now.”

  Clayton stood up. His next words were spoken slowly, deliberately. “In the beginning it seemed right…it seemed better than letting you know how he had really died. But I didn’t count on your accepting him as he was. I didn’t know you, of course, but I believed you would be horrified and repulsed by what had happened to him. I was the fool, Catherine. I didn’t take into account that you would be the kind of person you are. I’m very, very sorry.”

  She turned to face him. Her voice was almost a whisper. “I suppose things are never easy in war.”

  “Or in love.” His eyes met hers across the room. “I never counted, either, on falling in love with you.”

  The sound of a door opening and closing came from the other room and in a moment the doctor ambled in, stopping short when he saw them.

  “Oh, you’re still here. Forgive the intrusion.”

  “We were just leaving,” Clayton said. “Thank you for your courtesy, Dr. Edwards.”

  “Not at all, my boy.” He winked at Catherine. “I brought this one into the world some thirty-odd years ago. In Atlanta, that is. Known him all his life. Seems odd we’d run into each other here, but that’s what war does…brings people together or else tears them apart.”

  “Yes,” Catherine said absently, hardly aware of what he had said.

  “I’ve rented a coach,” Clayton told Catherine. “The driver’s waiting, if you’re ready.”

  She nodded. He helped her with her cloak, again thanked the doctor, and led her through the corridors to the back of the hospital. They got into the coach. Catherine was grateful to see a warming pan, which Clayton placed at her feet. A blanket lay folded in the corner; he reached across and handed it to her so she could spread it over her lower body.

  She felt warm and drowsy. “How did you know so much about our family?” she asked. “You seemed to know me, you knew Uncle Martin and even the servants.”

  For the first time, he seemed evasive. “I have a contact person,” he answered after a moment. “It’s probably best if you don’t know who it is.”

  “I don’t think I want to know. It’s strange to think of people you know telling other people about you.”

  “Catherine, I’m going to have to ask you to lie about this adventure today. In fact, you’ll probably have to tell a lot of falsehoods before this is over.”

  “I don’t know if I can do it, Clayton, and look anyone in the face. I’m not very good at hiding things.”

  “A lot depends on it,” he said. “Not only my life, but maybe even the outcome of this battle.”

  “Then Bart was right about the importance of that letter!”

  “It was important all right, but it benefited the Union, not us. Hadley was to get the letter to General Burnside. I have an idea what’s in it, but I won’t be sure until I can read it with the code in hand.”

  Catherine began to feel furious with Bart. “I could strangle him. He used me…to think what I almost did!”

  “I wouldn’t have let you. I would have stayed behind and gotten the letter, even—” He stopped, but she knew what he had been about to say.

  “Even if you had to kill him,” she said, with a shudder.

  “Look at me, Catherine.”

  She raised her eyes to his.

  “This is war. You and I are both involved, whether we like it or not. The terrible thing about war is that it means killing, and lying, and brother turning against brother. And the thing that makes this war particularly terrible is that we’re all Americans.”

  She saw the intensity in his eyes and knew he felt more than he showed.

  “I’ve told you before…this war should never have started. They like to say it’s over slavery, but I don’t know anyone who says he’s fighting to preserve slavery. Most of the men who are fighting never owned a single slave.

  “Slavery is wrong. It’s poison to any society and it should be abolished, but not this way. There had to have been another way, but somewhere down this long road of animosity between North and South, it got lost.

  “I’m fighting for a principle, Catherine…that no state should be forced to do anything against its will and threatened with extermination if it doesn’t comply.”
/>   “I know,” she said. “I read those things the North said about us.”

  “If they had agreed to give us time to work out our own problems, if they hadn’t tried to force things down our throat…well, it’s happened now and I don’t think the South has a chance, even if we do have better generals. There’s so much against us…a shortage of food and supplies and a certain weakness in communication. You wouldn’t believe the bickering that’s going on in the government, among even the highest officials. The president has a difficult personality and he’s often ill. His generals don’t understand him and half of them don’t even like each other.”

  The coach rocked as a wheel sank into a hole and came out again. Clayton reached out to steady her as she braced herself, then stopped the wild swinging of the lamp. He said quietly, as if there had been no interruption, “Catherine, I have a job to do. I hate killing, but killing in wartime is not murder. I hate lying, too, but there’s no way to avoid it.”

  She gave a slow nod.

  “You mustn’t tell anyone who I really am. You’ve got to tell Bart you delivered that letter to Hadley. And there was a phrase you’re to repeat back to Bart. Hadley was supposed to have given it to you after you gave him the letter. It’s ‘We must prevail.’”

  Catherine cringed inwardly at the thought of having to deceive Bart, thinking he would surely be able to read the truth in her face. She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can make him believe me.”

  “Think about what he is. He’s a traitor to his own people. If he wanted to fight for the Union, he should have joined their army, but instead he’s betraying the Confederacy. And he’s doing it for money, not for any patriotic cause. I don’t think Bart really believes in anything. Just now you were angry with him. Use your anger constructively.”

  “Yes, I suppose I can, when you put it that way.”

  “Good,” he said. “But one word of caution. Don’t try to embellish. Tell as little as possible so it’ll be easier to remember what you’ve said. You can get lost in a tangle of falsehoods.

  “We’re going to tell Bart that a wheel broke on Martin’s carriage and caused it to run down into a gully. We were tumbled around a bit and had to wait on the road for another carriage to come by. The driver was injured and had to be taken to a hospital. Later we’ll receive word that he died of his injuries.”

  “What about Uncle Martin’s horses?”

  “I’m going to give them to the army. We’ll say their legs were broken and the man who picked us up had to shoot them. As Andrew, I’ll offer to replace them.”

  He leaned toward her. “I would be the last one to ask you to go against your principles, darling. But in war sometimes you have to make new principles. Some things, of course, you should never do, no matter what. But deceiving the enemy in order to save lives—I don’t see that God would condemn that, do you?”

  “No,” she said, trying to smile. “I suppose not.”

  He returned her smile and leaned back against the cushion, his arms folded. He did not speak again. The swaying of the coach began to soothe Catherine and again she was engulfed in drowsiness.

  Darling. The endearment went straight to her heart. He had said he loved her. Happiness struggled with a sudden feeling of indignation as she remembered how he had tricked her. She wanted to think about it, concentrate, come to some sort of conclusion, but she was so tired.…

  She tried to stay awake but her head kept falling against the cushioned side of the coach. Sometime during the journey she lost complete awareness, until she felt a hand on her shoulder give a gentle shake.

  The coach had stopped. She looked down to see a dark glove and thought hazily…Andrew. No, not Andrew! She looked up at the familiar black scarf.

  “How can you see through that thing?” she mumbled, half asleep.

  “It’s thin material, and I’ve rubbed it even thinner around the eyes. I can see well in broad daylight, not so well at night. Bart’s sure to be waiting for you. Are you awake?”

  “Yes,” she said, but she was far from being fully alert. Utter exhaustion gripped her, and she could neither will nor force her body to rise and climb out of the coach. Her limbs had stiffened; her head felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton.

  Someone came out on the porch and she heard Bart’s voice, taut with anxiety. “Catherine! It’s about time! What happened?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  She heard Clayton reply, “We lost a wheel on the way back and the carriage rolled off the road. I’m afraid it’s beyond repair. I’ll buy Martin another one and replace the horses. Your driver’s in a hospital in Charlottesville.”

  Bart all but ignored him. “What’s the matter with Catherine?”

  “She’s worn out. I’m sorry, I can’t…would you carry her into the house?”

  At that Catherine tried to climb out the door, but her skirts impeded her and she almost tripped. She felt someone pull her arms and then she was lifted up. Bart carried her through the doorway and started up the stairs. He grunted a little and she felt herself slipping.

  “I can walk,” she said irritably, though she wasn’t at all certain she could. She put her hand down on the banister and Bart released her. Her legs began to crumple.

  “I’ve got you, Miss Catherine.” It was Ephraim. His strong arms lifted her and carried her up the stairs as though she were a child. He entered her room and laid her on the bed.

  “All right, you can go,” Bart dismissed the butler, close on their heels.

  “Thank you, Ephraim,” Catherine whispered, her voice weak with fatigue.

  “Did you deliver the letter?” Bart demanded.

  She opened her eyes to see him standing over her, white-faced. She nodded.

  “You must have something to say,” he went on.

  At first she couldn’t think what he meant, and then she remembered there were words she was supposed to repeat back to him. What were they? The gates of hell…no, that was the first phrase.

  “Prevail,” she said, closing her eyes again. “We must prevail.”

  She sensed rather than saw Bart’s relief. “Very good. Thank you, Catherine. You can tell me about it tomorrow.”

  Clayton spoke from the doorway. “Mrs. Shirley is here to help you, Catherine.”

  Suddenly Bart and Clayton were gone, and Mrs. Shirley was helping Catherine get out of her clothes and into her nightgown. The covers were pulled back and she crawled into bed, thinking that clean sheets and warm blankets were indeed something to be thankful for.

  ***

  Catherine’s muscles had become so stiff during the night that in the morning she almost cried out when she tried to move. Slowly she swung her feet to the floor, her face contorted with agony. She caught her expression in the bedroom mirror and would have laughed out loud if she hadn’t thought the exertion would kill her.

  How did men ride horses for days at a time? She really must ride more; she hadn’t been on a horse since she moved to Richmond—until yesterday.

  Bent like an old woman, she managed to light the fire. A hot bath suddenly seemed like the most wonderful thing in the world. Hobbling to the door, she opened it and called for Ephraim. He appeared at the landing and looked up at her.