Shadow of Dawn

by Diaz, Debra

  She fought the urge to weep again, hating herself for her weakness. She had wept more since she met Clayton than she had in her whole life.

  She rose from his lap and returned to her own chair. “I wanted you so badly, Clayton, to tell you what happened, and Dr. Edwards left the city and I didn’t know if I should try to contact Mrs. Shirley, and—”

  “Tell me what?” he said, straightening in his chair and not taking his eyes from her face.

  Catherine found it unexpectedly hard to say. She took a deep breath. “Andrew is alive. He came back. He’s been back for over a month now.”

  For once Clayton seemed completely nonplussed. At last he said flatly, “That’s impossible.”

  “There’s no mistake, not this time. Someone else was shot for desertion.

  It must have been a case of…of misidentification.”

  Clayton stared at her, but it was as if he looked through and beyond her. Abruptly he asked, “You knew, of course, about Andrew’s brother?”

  She widened her eyes in astonishment. “No! He never told me he had a brother!”

  “That’s odd. Maybe he was ashamed of him. At any rate, Andrew had a twin.”

  “Twins!” For the first time in weeks a ray of light permeated the dark cloud that had hung over Catherine. “Then he isn’t Andrew after all!”

  “John Kelly disappeared before the war. He was a gambler…it was assumed he’d been killed.”

  “But he must still be alive. And now that Andrew’s dead, he’s decided to take his place.”

  Clayton did not reply. He got to his feet and went to stare out the window into the wild, black night. For the first time, Catherine noticed how the old house shook and rattled in the wind.

  “Clayton, that note of Bart’s I found about this house had the word ‘clay’ written on it. What do you suppose that meant?”

  “What? Oh, that’s the name of the people who used to live here. Listen, Catherine, we need to get out of here. I don’t think he will, but Bart’s killer could come back, or for that matter any of them could still be in these woods. I’m going to take you home.”

  “But I don’t want to go back there. Can’t…can’t we be together?”

  He turned to face her, and the hard expression, which had appeared so suddenly, vanished. He moved away from the window and took both her hands. “There’s nothing I want more, Catherine, believe me. But there’s something more to all this than meets the eye. What if this man is Andrew and it was John who died, misidentified as his brother? A lot of mistakes have been made in this war. It would be easy to mistake twins.”

  “But that’s crazy. Why would he have gone around saying he was Andrew?”

  “Why,” Clayton said, “would he be doing it now?”

  “Because…because he knows Andrew is dead and so he’s decided to become Andrew in order to hide his own past. If he’s a gambler, maybe he’s in trouble with the law.”

  “That’s a possibility. I hope that is the case. But we’ve got to be sure. Because Catherine, if this man is really Andrew, our marriage is not legal.”

  “I beg your pardon!” she snapped, leaping to her feet. “I’m a lot more married to you than I ever was to him!”

  He searched her eyes and a slow smile spread over his face. “Yes, in our hearts and minds we are husband and wife. But if he is Andrew, he has only to lie about the nature of your relationship and the law will recognize him as your husband. And if he is John Kelly, we must find a way to prove it.”

  “How? He looks exactly like Andrew. He even sounds like him!”

  Clayton looked thoughtful. “Is Miranda still with the Hendersons?”

  “Yes.”

  “You might ask her, in a roundabout way, if there was any way to tell them apart. Don’t make her think you’re suspicious…she might tell her cousin.”

  “And if he is Andrew? What then?”

  “We’ll straighten it out.” He traced a finger around the curve of her jaw. “I promise.”

  She stared at him. He bent to kiss her and then stopped, frowning suddenly.

  “Does he press you? Where has he been staying?”

  “He stays in my old bedroom. I told him I needed time to get used to the idea of his being alive. He knows…well, the whole family knows that I slept in the same room with the mysterious man in black.”

  He groaned. “Oh, Catherine, this is a nightmare I’ve put you through.”

  She said softly, “He really is a gentleman. He won’t let anyone speak of that. Everyone believes it was an honest mistake.”

  “It’s a scandal, nothing less. And it’s all my fault, none of yours. I’m so very sorry, my dear.” His gaze grew more intent. “You sound as if…Catherine, you must have loved Andrew once. If he really is your husband—”

  “He isn’t. He never was.”

  He said soberly, “Catherine, I know you well. You have always believed that marriage is sacred. You said vows with Andrew before God. You were even going to turn me away, for him.”

  “But that was before—”

  “Before what?”

  “Listen to me, Clayton Pierce. I believed Andrew was dead, and I married you in good faith.” Her voice faltered and lowered to a whisper. “I love you, Clayton. How can you doubt that?”

  He saw her eyes fill with tears and without hesitation embraced her. “I don’t doubt it, my darling. And I don’t want the world to have any doubt that you belong to me. That’s why we have to make sure.”

  “But how?” she asked, her voice muffled against him.

  “I want to meet him. I’ll arrange it somehow. In the meantime I’ll see if I can track down John Kelly, or find proof that he was killed in place of Andrew. One of them is dead, that much is certain. On the way home I want you to tell me his story…everything he’s told you. But now I must ask you—” He pushed her gently back, his hands on her shoulders, and looked intently into her face.

  “Did you see who killed Ingram?”

  Catherine wiped her nose again with Clayton’s handkerchief and shook her head. “I just saw him walking away. It was too dark to even tell what he was wearing, other than a hat.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  “There were two other men here, besides Bart. I don’t know who they were. I never saw them up close. I could barely hear them.” She repeated the words she had been able to overhear.

  Clayton released her and walked back and forth for a moment, thinking. “The Yankees are going to try again to capture Richmond. I suppose what you heard could mean these men will attempt to kill General Lee during the battle—or have him killed. A stray shot would be impossible to trace. Did you hear anything more about this rifleman?”

  “No. I’m sorry, Clayton. I was so scared—”

  “You are the bravest woman I know…too brave for your own good. Catherine, if I had come in and found your body lying there—” He broke off. He came to her and again took her shoulders in his hands. “Don’t ever do this again.”

  He looked so fiercely into her eyes that she could only nod. He put one hand behind her head and kissed her brow. Then he swiftly removed his cape and put it on her. Below it he wore his gray Confederate uniform.

  “We’ve got to go now.” He placed the chairs where he had found them, came back, and picked up the candle. Then he turned again and went into the other room, retrieving his hat from the floor where he had thrown it before setting off in pursuit of Catherine.

  “We can’t just leave him like that,” Catherine said, trying to avoid looking at Bart’s body.

  “We have no choice. But I do wonder why he was killed. Shot in the back.”

  “It sounded like quarreling, just before he was shot.”

  Clayton stood still, holding his hat, the candle flickering in his other hand and throwing a mellow light over the dark corners. For some reason the image stuck in Catherine’s mind like a photograph.

  “You couldn’t tell what about?”

  “No. The wind was
in my ears.”

  Clayton blew out the candle, pinched the wick and slipped it into his pocket. “No use having them wonder who’s been burning this candle. There are plenty of others over there.”

  “Aren’t you going to have them arrested? You know who they are, except for the fourth man. That is, assuming he was the leader and they were part of the usual group.”

  “I don’t know yet. We don’t know anything for sure.” Not for the first time that night, he seemed evasive. She told herself she was imagining it.

  He took her hand and led her out the front door. “I assume you rode?”

  “My horse is a good ways down from here.” Catherine had to raise her voice over the wind. She could almost smell rain in the air, but it still held back. “Bart’s horse was here, too.”

  “There were no horses anywhere around when I got here. The fourth man must have taken it. I suppose I didn’t look far enough to see your horse.”

  “Didn’t you see anything of a rider? He left only moments before you got here.”

  “No,” Clayton said. “I didn’t.”

  They came to his horse first, which had been tied some distance away. He held the reins and they walked through the trees until they reached the other horse. The mare neighed; she had not liked standing in the turbulent gale. Clayton lifted Catherine onto the mare, then mounted his stallion. It was a slow journey. Unlike the other time they

  had traveled through the woods, there was little light; scudding gray clouds obscured the face of the moon. Catherine had no doubt that she would, by now, be in a state of terror if not for Clayton’s presence.

  She related everything Andrew had told her about his imprisonment and subsequent escape. There was not much to tell. Clayton listened and said little.

  The air had chilled considerably and she was glad for the warmth of Clayton’s mantle. The wind did not seem so ferocious once they were out of the woods, but she wondered if her ears would ever stop ringing. Clayton knew of some side roads and before long they had reached the Henderson’s’ street. They stopped at the livery first, leaving both horses so he could walk with her to the back of the house and make sure she got safely into her room.

  They entered the backyard and stood at the base of the enormous oak. Catherine removed the cape and handed it to him.

  “You’d better take this. It’s going to rain.”

  He held it in his hands but did not put it on. “Catherine,” he said, with a troubled expression, “just how long do you think he’ll…be a gentleman, as you put it?”

  She couldn’t resist a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Why, I’m sure I couldn’t say.” When it failed to bring a smile to his lips, she relented.

  “Is that what’s bothering you, Clayton Pierce? He’s not going to do anything against my will with everyone in the house, and I’ll make sure I’m never alone with him.”

  He looked only slightly mollified.

  “I think you should tell Ephraim the situation, so that he can keep an eye on you.”

  “All right, I will. In fact, I’ll be relieved for him to know the truth.”

  “I thought you would.” The shadow of a smile did appear, but only for a moment. “Is that horse pistol I saw in the wardrobe in your room still there?”

  “Yes, I’m sure it is.”

  “Do you know how to use it?”

  “My father taught me years ago. I think I remember.”

  “Load it. And for heaven’s sake keep it pointing away from you. Put it in the table by the bed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now be very slow and careful when you climb up there. I’ll wait until you’re inside.”

  “Aren’t you going to kiss your wife good night, Major Pierce?”

  He complied with fervor, saying against her lips, “You must wear breeches more often, Mrs. Pierce.”

  She smothered a giggle as he lifted her onto the lowest branch. She had climbed halfway up when, without warning, the long-delayed rain poured like a million buckets of water from the sky. She was soaked before she had even reached the balcony.

  Gasping, she pulled herself over the rail and looked down through the sheets of rain at Clayton, blowing him a kiss. He waved, but she saw that he was still waiting for her to go inside. She turned, lifted up the window and slipped into the room, runnels of water flowing off her clothes onto the floor. She closed the window quickly.

  No sooner had she done so when she heard a knock, and Andrew said, “Catherine, open the door at once.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Her mind racing, she reached automatically for her long-sleeved wrapper, which hung on a hook inside the armoire. She put it on and decided to forestall him from entering.

  “Andrew, I’m…I’m not dressed. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  To her dismay the lock clicked, the door opened, and Andrew strode into the room, closing the door behind him. She still couldn’t help thinking of him as Andrew, even though she was certain he was the twin, John.

  He stopped short at the sight of her, drenched and dripping. “What in the world…where have you been? I didn’t see you come up.”

  “I came home early from the hospital. I didn’t feel well and I went to sleep. I went out on the balcony for some fresh air and got stuck out there in the rain…you know how that door is. I had to climb in the window.”

  He stared at her. “We’ve been waiting supper for you.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “I was about to go downstairs when I heard you.”

  He couldn’t have heard her unless he was standing outside the door, about to let himself in! She looked pointedly at the key he held in his hand.

  “Jessie showed me the duplicate keys,” he said, exhibiting no embarrassment. “I was worried about you. I thought you should be home by now.”

  “I hardly see how searching my room would help find me.”

  He ignored that. “You’d better get out of those wet things.” Apparently he noticed how the wrapper clung to her body. “What on earth do you have on?”

  “It’s…it’s my underwear.”

  “Out on the balcony in your underwear!” He seemed truly shocked.

  “Well, nobody could see me.”

  “Here, let me help you.”

  “No, Andrew!”

  He stopped his movement toward her.

  She feigned anger, which was not difficult. “I just want to be left alone. I’m not well. Please give me that key and I must ask you to respect my privacy.”

  Her anger seemed to transfer itself to him. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, but I insist you join us for supper as soon as you’ve changed. And I forbid you to go parading about outside without your clothes on. Suppose one of the household had seen you…suppose it was Bart Ingram, who seems particularly susceptible to your charms.”

  She almost winced at the mention of Bart. “It’s not something I do every day, I assure you.”

  “I should hope not. But you will, I trust, heed my wishes in this matter. I’ll send Jessie to attend to you.”