Shadow of Dawn

by Diaz, Debra

  “Andrew and I get along just fine,” she said coolly.

  “Have you seen his face?” She almost dropped a glass at the unexpected question. “Really, Bart! Why should you ask such a thing?”

  “Are you certain,” he went on, in a smooth but almost accusing voice, “that he is really your husband?”

  “Of course I’m sure! There are a hundred ways to be sure of that, besides seeing him. But yes, I have seen his face. It is terribly marred, but it is Andrew.”

  “It suddenly occurred to me that anyone could come into this house claiming to be your husband—an opportunist, even a Yankee spy.”

  “I declare I never knew you had such a vivid imagination, Bart Ingram.” She took the pitcher in one hand and the glasses in the other. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  He stepped out of her way. “Tell Andrew I’ll be up to visit him soon.”

  “He’ll be delighted, I’m sure.” She couldn’t keep a certain ironic note from her voice.

  In her haste she spilled water on the stairs, pausing to wipe it up with the hem of her skirt lest some unwary person slip and possibly be killed. Which, she reflected crossly, might not be a bad thing if that person was Bart. She arrived at Andrew’s room without further incident, shut the door and gasped, “Bart knows something!”

  Clayton had been sitting up in bed. Immediately he was on his feet, taking the pitcher and glasses from her and setting them on the dresser. “What do you mean?”

  “He asked me if I had seen your face, if I was sure you were my husband. He said anyone could pretend to be Andrew. He’s coming to see you!”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe tonight.”

  Clayton relaxed and sat back down on the bed. With a feeling of compunction Catherine saw that his face was white.

  “I’m sorry, Clayton. You shouldn’t have gotten up so quickly.”

  “You looked as though you were going to fling that pitcher through the window.”

  “He scared me, and he makes me so mad I could spit nails.”

  “What did he do?” he asked, instantly alert.

  “Oh, he’s just being himself. Clayton, what are you going to do?”

  He leaned negligently back against the pillows, folding his hands across his waist. “Nothing. In fact, I think it’s about time that Andrew got out of his room more often. Once people become curious, it’s best to do what you can to satisfy their curiosity.”

  “But isn’t that terribly risky? What if someone becomes convinced you’re not Andrew?”

  “I’m willing to take the risk. Besides, none of them really knew Andrew. They couldn’t have seen him more than a few times before he left to join the army. Even you didn’t know the difference.”

  “But Bart’s already suspicious.”

  “Perhaps this will allay his suspicions. If not, and he feels threatened, he may become incautious…which would be to our advantage.”

  “If he knew who you really are, he’d kill you.”

  Clayton reached out and took her hand. “Bart will be going to prison very soon.”

  Catherine was not diverted. “Does General Lee know about the plot to murder him?”

  “Yes, he knows. But he’s not one to run away and hide from danger. There have been other threats against his life. Unfortunately, knowing this group of men as I do, we have to take this seriously. Mrs. Shirley heard Ingram tell them not to meet again until after the first of the year.”

  “Mrs. Shirley said I was to try to get information from Bart.”

  Clayton shook his head. “That was a suggestion from our superiors. I’m opposed to it, Catherine. I want you to stay out of it.”

  “But how can I? Clayton, I’m not going to run and hide either. I’m a Southerner, just like you. I love and respect General Lee, and if anything happened to him that I could have stopped, I could never forgive myself.”

  He looked at her and said nothing.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Clayton, don’t you see? I don’t have to place myself in danger. I don’t know yet how I can help, but if the opportunity arises I have to take it!”

  “I don’t want you alone with Bart.”

  “Why, don’t you trust me?” she asked, wide-eyed.

  “It’s Bart I don’t trust, and don’t try to distract me with those green eyes of yours. What did he do that made you angry?”

  “He, well, he said that if I got lonely his room was just down the hall.”

  Clayton raised an eyebrow. “Dear me! Any well-bred young lady should have fainted at that.”

  “Only a ninny would take him seriously…it was all so ridiculous!”

  “Loneliness can be a terrible thing,” he said softly. “It can make people do things they wouldn’t ordinarily dream of doing.”

  She stared at him. “Clayton Alexander Pierce, you should know me better than that! Anyway, I’m not…I’ll never be that lonely.”

  “You’re very young.”

  She pulled her hand from his and stood up. “I may be young but I’m not stupid. And I’ll have you know—”

  Someone knocked on the door. Clayton reached at once for the black hood that lay beside him on the bed and slipped it on. Catherine went to open the door.

  Sallie stood there, a gleam of excitement in her eyes, her cheeks very pink. “Someone’s here to see Andrew,” she announced. “It’s a woman. She says she’s his cousin.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Clayton said, in “Andrew’s” whispery voice, “Which cousin?”

  “Her name’s Miranda Kelly. What shall I tell her?”

  “Have you warned her about my…appearance?”

  “Why, no. I didn’t think it my place.” Sallie stood transfixed in the

  doorway, as if afraid to come any further. She said, with a delicate touch of disapproval, “But evidently she plans to stay a while. She has a trunk.”

  “I can pay for her to go to a hotel.”

  “No need for that, Andrew.” Bart had come up behind Sallie, who stepped back to allow him into the room. Catherine was relieved to see that at some point Clayton had remembered to slip on the gloves. He shook hands with Bart.

  “I’m glad to see that you’re better. Now about this cousin…you do have an extra room, Sallie. The hotels and boardinghouses are all full, I can tell you that. It wouldn’t hurt to allow Andrew’s cousin to stay a while, would it?” He glanced back and apparently gave Sallie a look, for her face smoothed and its disapproval vanished. She nodded.

  “That’s kind of you both. Catherine, would you please go and prepare my cousin before she comes up here to see me?”

  “Of course.” Catherine waited for Bart to precede her, seeing how his sharp gaze flicked all about the room. Instead he made a slightly mocking bow and said, “After you.”

  She went through the doorway and followed Sallie down the stairs. Her heart fluttered nervously and she marveled that Clayton had seemed so calm. She was sure this visit from an unknown cousin was totally unexpected.

  “She’s in the parlor with Martin,” Sallie said.

  Catherine entered the parlor. A short and very plump woman sat propped on the edge of the settee, daintily holding a cup of tea. Her hair, a rather alarming shade of red, was piled high on her head. Dark pockets of flesh sagged beneath her faded but inquisitive blue eyes.

  “Hello. I’m Andrew’s wife, Catherine,” she said.

  The woman immediately handed her cup to Martin, who stood close by, and began to blubber. She fished about in her sleeve for a handkerchief.

  “Oh, Cousin Catherine, you don’t know what I’ve been through! We’ve not heard anything from Andrew in so long that at last I said, ‘I’m going to Richmond and I’ll find out something if I have to track down Jeff Davis himself.’ And I’ve been here for two days, trying to find out something, staying in the nastiest little room in some old woman’s house because, my dear, that’s all that is available, and finally someone at the War Department said h
e was in the hospital, but when I got there he’d been sent home, and I inquired to find out where that was and came here straightaway.”

  The woman paused for breath. “My name is Miranda Kelly. That was my maiden name and then I married one of my Kelly cousins. He’s been dead for six years. Andrew was like a son to me and I’ve been so worried about him. Where is he?”

  Miranda Kelly blew her nose with a trumpeting sound.

  “Mrs. Kelly—”

  “Oh, do call me Cousin Miranda. There are so few of us left, and family must stick together. Don’t you agree?”

  “Cousin Miranda, I’m so sorry I didn’t write you, but I knew Andrew’s parents were dead and I didn’t really know who to write. My husband was wounded, and he’s been quite ill. He…I’m afraid his appearance will be something of a shock.”

  Miranda straightened and looked up from her handkerchief. “Has he lost a leg? An arm? How dreadful!”

  “No. He was shot in the face, and he’s been badly burned. He lost his sight. He wears a hood to conceal his…his injuries.”

  Miranda’s pink face went white and she sat down abruptly. Martin turned automatically to get Sallie’s smelling salts, which he waved with an expert air underneath her nose.

  Miranda turned her head. “No need for that, I’m perfectly fine.”

  Sallie said, with unusual warmth, “Mrs. Kelly, my husband and I would like for you to stay with us for a while, until you feel you’re ready to undertake the journey home.” Catherine saw Martin’s look of surprise. Sallie gave a little shrug.

  “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Henderson. I’m so relieved. You can’t know what it’s like out there for an unattached woman. What is the world coming to? Why, Richmond’s gone wild! Of course you live here in this lovely quiet neighborhood, but I can tell you—”

  Catherine listened as the woman talked on and on, hoping to glean more information that Clayton might be expected to know. After a few moments Sallie and Martin excused themselves and left the room. During one of the few pauses, Catherine asked, “And how is the rest of your family, Cousin Miranda?”

  “Well, Pappy’s dead. He was buried a month ago. Died a day short of his ninety-seventh birthday. Cousin Lula’s having a baby the last of March and she’s already as big as a house. Twins actually, we think. Cousin Jason was with Forrest till he got shot. Delicacy forbids me to mention where, but I can tell you he’ll never be the same.” She sobbed suddenly into her handkerchief. “The war has ruined everything—and to think of poor Cousin Andrew suffering so vilely. I vow I shan’t sleep for the horror of it!”

  “Try not to think about it. Are you from the same place in Alabama that Andrew is from? It must have been a very long trip.”

  “Frightfully long. We Kellys all come from the same general vicinity, you know. Although I suppose it’s a common-enough name.”

  “You must have been close to my husband.”

  “He hasn’t mentioned me?” Miranda’s blue eyes were intent.

  Catherine hesitated just long enough for the woman to begin to look offended. “I’m sorry. My husband’s memory has been somewhat affected by his injuries. Some things are clear to him, and others are, well, not clear.”

  “Well, he can’t have forgotten me! He stayed with me quite a bit when his mother was ill. He used to say I was his favorite cousin. He used to call me Randy when he was little.”

  “Oh, he hasn’t forgotten you. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and make sure he’s ready to see you. I’ll have Jessie prepare your room.”

  “Well, thank you, Cousin Catherine.” Miranda sighed and reached out for her abandoned teacup.

  When Catherine reached the upper floor she saw that the extra room next to Mrs. Shirley had already been opened and Jessie was busily putting fresh sheets on the bed. Catherine went into “Andrew’s” room.

  Clayton smiled a little. “Well, what sort of situation do we have?”

  She told him everything she had learned. Clayton listened thoughtfully.

  “Catherine, do you think there’s a chance Bart may have put her up to this? Maybe he’s testing me and she’s not a cousin at all.”

  Catherine frowned. “I don’t think so. Either she’s real or she’s a consummate actress.”

  “She may very well be an actress. Bart knows a lot of them. However, if I really did have a bad memory I think I would pretend to know her, just to avoid offending her.”

  “Shall I bring her up?”

  He nodded, winked at her and put the scarf over his head.

  Catherine did not share his casual acceptance of the situation. If Andrew’s cousin discovered the man behind the mask was not Andrew, she would certainly shout it from the rooftop, and Clayton’s life would be in immediate jeopardy.

  “As I told you, my husband has recently been ill,” she said from behind Miranda, who was puffing up the stairs. “I must ask that you spend only a few moments with him at first.”

  “Of course.” Andrew’s cousin saved her breath for climbing, and at the top of the stairs she clutched the railing and put a hand to her side. “Oh, my, you don’t have a room downstairs, do you?”

  “Only the servants’ rooms are downstairs.”

  “Oh.”

  “This is to be your room. Joseph has already brought your trunk. If you need help unpacking I can get Jessie for you. Andrew’s room is this way.”

  The woman had grown exceedingly quiet. Catherine opened the door and stepped aside. Miranda went in so stealthily she might have been approaching the cage of a tiger.

  “Oh,” Catherine heard her say. “Oh, my.”

  Clayton stood beside the bed, completely clad in black, which made his tall figure seem all the more towering. He put out his gloved hand.

  “Hello, Cousin Miranda.”

  Miranda stared at him, her eyes round, and let him take her plump and rather limp hand. When he released it, she immediately took a step backward.

  “I’m sorry that I cannot say you’re looking well, Cousin Miranda. Did Catherine tell you about my…blindness?”

  “Oh, yes. Why, I do believe you’ve grown, Andrew. What’s the matter with your voice?”

  “My throat was damaged. I’m lucky to be alive.”

  “Yes. Well, you could have written us, Cousin.”

  “Please forgive me. I was ill for a long time. I would have written you eventually. How are the folks at home? Have you heard from Jason?”

  “Yes, you were rather close to him, weren’t you? I’m afraid Cousin Jason was wounded and is permanently at home. Don’t you want to hear about Lula?” There was suddenly a sly look on the pink, artfully powdered face.

  Clayton hesitated. “What about Lula?”

  “You don’t want Catherine to know. I shouldn’t have brought it up. But after all, you did promise to marry her. Well, she got tired of waiting and married Huey Wicker. She’s having a baby in March.”

  “I should have written her. But the moment I saw Catherine, I forgot every other woman I’d ever known.”