by Mary Ellis
“No, Rufus. This is something I must take care of in person. You run home and tell your parents not to worry.”
“I’ll tell them, Miz Dunn.” He extracted the pear and took a large bite before vanishing down the steps into the garden.
“Is something wrong, Miss Amanda?”
“Yes, but every problem contains a solution. You eat while I think.” By the time she finished another cup of coffee Amanda had eliminated three possibilities. The town council wouldn’t meet for another two weeks. Nate could be taken to Fort Fisher by then and hanged. The state representative she had met at dinner, the Honorable Thaddeus Wilkes, would be in Richmond for the current assemblage, according to Jackson’s dinner chatter. As for the Henthornes’ attorney, Mr. Alcott, he would undoubtedly consult Jackson before taking action. Her only hope lay with Judge Stewart or his charming wife, Rosalyn.
Throughout the morning, Amanda prayed her sister would decide to stay home that day. During luncheon Amanda had never seen anyone dawdle so long over a chilled chicken breast and cup of consommé. Finally, Abigail stood and signaled for the table to be cleared.
“I believe I’ll pay a call on Mrs. Wilkes this afternoon and then perhaps Mrs. Stewart.” Amanda sounded as cheery as possible.
“What on earth for?” Abby wrinkled her nose. “Sarah is dreadfully dull. She talks about nothing but the privations in Richmond.”
Amanda opened her fan as they stepped into the center hall. “Both ladies insisted that we call on them and we haven’t done so.”
“You go on then. I haven’t seen my friend Carolyn Lowell in ages. If I go out later it will be solely to her house, but I must lie down for a while.” Abby clung to the banister as she ascended the stairs.
“I’ll send the carriage back for you,” Amanda said, following her up. The moment her sister closed her door, she collected her parasol and hurried down to the courtyard. She found the coachman grooming the horses.
“Thomas, do you know where Judge Stewart lives?”
“Yes, ma’am. Over on Ann Street.”
“Could you take me there, please?”
“Isn’t it too early to pay visits, Miz Duncan?”
“Not if the horse takes his time. I’m eager to start my calls.” She tapped her toe on the flagstones.
“I’ll bring the carriage ’round front, miss,” he said, tipping his hat.
For some reason it took him twenty minutes to harness a horse and wipe down the leather upholstery. Abigail’s slaves wanted to maintain proper decorum even if the foreign guest remained oblivious of social etiquette. At last the carriage rolled to a stop in front of an Italianate with a fourth-story cupola even grander than the Henthorne mansion.
“Thank you, Thomas. Please return home with the carriage.”
He placed a stepping block over the gutter. “Shouldn’t I stay to take you on to Miz Wilkes?”
Amanda chose not to admonish his obvious eavesdropping. “No, I want Mrs. Henthorne to have her carriage. I’ll ask the Stewarts’ driver to take me.” She hurried up the walkway to circumvent more questions.
Fortuitously, Rosalyn Stewart was reading in the parlor when the butler announced her.
“Miss Amanda Dunn, madam.”
“Miss Dunn, what a pleasure to see you.” Rosalyn rose to her feet and met her in the center of the thick Persian rug. “Isn’t Mrs. Henthorne with you?” She slipped an arm around Amanda’s waist as though they were old friends instead of new acquaintances.
“Not today, I’m afraid, but she sends her fondest regards. The heat plays havoc with her stamina.”
“My, yes. I’ve grown frightfully sluggish myself.” Rosalyn guided her guest back to the divan before launching into a detailed account of her work with the ladies’ auxiliary, in addition to hours spent with the Confederate Sanitary Commission. For a quarter hour she explained her endeavors, which sounded anything but slothful. If the maid hadn’t interrupted with a tray of sandwiches, iced cakes, and pot of tea, Amanda may have fallen asleep from sympathetic fatigue if not outright boredom.
“Ah, here’s our tea. Shall I pour, Miss Dunn?”
“Yes, cream and sugar, please.” Amanda took a watercress sandwich from the maid’s tray and nibbled politely.
“Forgive me for rattling on endlessly. What news do you hear from home? I trust your mother is well?”
If permitted, Rosalyn would orchestrate a lively comparison between American and British fashion and customs. “Mama is well, but I actually have a rather urgent matter to discuss with you,” she said, setting her cup carefully in its saucer.
“What is it, my dear? How can I be of service?” Rosalyn’s forehead furrowed with concern.
“I have a serious situation to discuss with the judge. May I call on him at his chambers?” Amanda couldn’t stop her hands from trembling.
Rosalyn dropped her half-eaten pastry on a china plate. “I can do better than that. Court isn’t in session today. Miles is reading arguments and depositions in his home office. I’m sure he would welcome a break from the tedium.” Patting her perfect coiffure of curls, she stood with the bearing of a queen.
“He won’t be angry with my unannounced disruption?”
“Of course not. He loves to assist damsels in distress, especially one who’s young, pretty, and English.” Rosalyn laughed and reached for Amanda’s hand as though she were a child. She led her down a portrait-lined hallway to a set of double doors. After the briefest of knocks, Rosalyn entered the paneled library. “Miles?” she said sweetly. “Look who has joined us. Amanda Dunn, Mrs. Henthorne’s sister. She has a matter of upmost urgency to discuss with you.”
Judge Stewart peered up from his stack of books and papers. His glasses sat askew on his nose, his silvery hair was ruffled and mussed, and his collar was undone. “Miss Dunn, do come in. Please forgive my appearance,” he said genially as he reached for his discarded cravat.
“Please don’t trouble yourself on my account, sir.” With Rosalyn’s prodding, Amanda approached his cluttered desk. “I’m so sorry to impose on you, but I knew of no one else who could assist with this conundrum. You’re my only hope.”
“Goodness, this sounds dire. Speak frankly, Miss Dunn. Allow me to rectify the matter if I can.”
Amanda launched into a disjointed plea for Nate’s release from jail, augmenting the little she knew from his note with pure fiction to sway the man to her side. “I assure you, sir, Nathaniel Cooper is not a Union sympathizer. He’s loyal to North Carolina and has never lived anywhere else. His reluctance to enlist stems from his pacifist convictions passed down from his parents.”
How easily the fabrications rolled off her tongue. She knew almost nothing about his parents, least of all whether or not they would take up arms. Is this what love did to a person—allowed them to lie effortlessly? Because at that moment, she knew she loved him and would say or do anything to keep him safe. “Please believe me, Judge Stewart. Nathaniel is no traitor to the Confederacy.”
He removed his quill pen from the inkwell. “Our militia has gone too far. They would demand that all men fight for the Cause, yet if so who would be left to keep our society from crumbling into chaos? I remember talking to Mr. Cooper at length about the great philosophers Immanuel Kant and Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Adam Smith and their theories as to how men might be governed in the future. He struck me as a man of learning and conviction, not cowardice.” He pulled a sheet of foolscap from his drawer. “I shall personally vouch for his integrity and usefulness in Wilmington and issue a directive that Mr. Cooper be released at once.”
While he scribbled and scrawled, Amanda felt her stiff back begin to relax. She unwittingly had tensed every muscle in her body. “I don’t know how to thank you, sir. I will be forever in your debt.”
“Didn’t I tell you the judge would be happy to help?” Rosalyn hugged her around the shoulders. The woman demonstrated more affection than Amanda’s own mother.
“Mr. Cooper has become dear to me,” she sai
d, as though obligated to offer explanation for her behavior.
Rosalyn chuckled. “That fact was apparent to everyone at the dinner party.”
Judge Stewart blotted his signature and sealed the wax with his family crest. “I had better accompany you downtown, Miss Dunn. The local militia is filled more with rabble than gentlemen these days. Send for the carriage, my dear, and I will join you ladies in the porte cochere in a few moments,” he said, smiling at his wife as he rolled down his shirtsleeves.
Amanda’s eyes filled with tears as Rosalyn led her from the library. “Splendid! I shall ride along too. I don’t mean to make light of this, but I welcome any diversion to my frightfully dull afternoons.”
Ten
It was all Amanda could do to sit still in the Stewarts’ stuffy, enclosed brougham. Once they arrived at their destination, the judge insisted she remain in the carriage because “jails were no place for ladies of a delicate nature.” She didn’t feel as though her nature was very delicate. If Rosalyn hadn’t ridden along too, Amanda may have followed Judge Stewart into the forbidding brick building. What if the local militia refused to recognize civil authority? What if Nate had already been transferred to the brig at the Confederate fort? One troubling possibility after another came to mind while the judge was inside.
Just as the last of her patience ran out, Judge Stewart and a haggard Nate Cooper appeared in the doorway. He wore no hat or frock coat, his shirt was badly wrinkled, and his vest flapped open. Upon closer inspection, Amanda spotted the reason why. “All his buttons are gone,” she murmured.
Rosalyn leaned toward the window. “Be thankful he still has his boots. I’ve heard the jailers are less reputable than their prisoners—no offense intended to Mr. Cooper.” She smiled comfortingly at Amanda before settling back as her husband and Nate entered the carriage.
“You sit there, Mr. Cooper, next to Miss Dunn,” said the judge. “She was very brave to speak to me on your behalf.”
“I am grateful for your intervention, sir, and to you, Miss Dunn,” Nate murmured, locking gazes with her.
“I see they stole your buttons. Did they treat you miserably? Did they refuse to provide food? You look thinner than I recall.” Amanda prattled on as though she had just been released from confinement.
His pale face brightened measurably with a smile. “Worry not. I spent only two days incarcerated thanks to your swift action and the judge’s mercy. No one can lose much weight in so short a time.”
“Was it loathsome, Mr. Cooper? Did the air smell foul and were the walls crawling with vermin?” Rosalyn pressed a hand to her throat.
“Where do you hear such things?” asked the judge, aghast.
“At sewing guild, my dear.” His wife’s focus remained on Nathaniel.
“No, Mrs. Stewart. My window caught the night breeze and my treatment was relatively humane. When I refused moldy bread and rice, the guard said the meal was the equal to those served at the fort.”
Judge Stewart cleared his throat. “Enough talk about bad food. Why don’t you and Miss Dunn join us for dinner tonight? Our cook works magic with she-crab soup.”
Amanda tried to look encouraging, but Nate shook his head. “Thank you, sir, but I’m eager to check on my store. Besides, I have inconvenienced you enough for one day. Perhaps Miss Dunn can be persuaded.”
“What say you, my dear? Shall we take you home or back to the Henthornes’?” Rosalyn’s gaze rotated between them.
“If you don’t mind, I would also like to be dropped off at Cooper’s Greengrocery. I won’t be able to sleep until I hear every detail about his arrest.”
Rosalyn hid her smile even as her husband laughed heartily. “A woman unafraid to speak her mind? I hope that affliction doesn’t spread across America. I already have a hard enough time winning arguments at home.” Squeezing his wife’s hand, the judge barked orders out the window to the footman.
All too soon the brougham rolled to a stop on Water Street. Amanda stepped down to the sidewalk in front of Nate’s beloved shop.
He shook hands with his protector. “I will never forget your kindness, sir. Thank you again.”
“Nonsense. It’s my sworn duty to rectify injustice wherever I find it. In your case, it was also my pleasure. Keep that signed affidavit on your person. There might be other zealous recruiters to contend with in the future. My signature will not be questioned in Wilmington.”
Nate bowed low to the couple as their carriage clattered away.
Suddenly alone with him, Amanda was utterly flummoxed as to how to act. “Shall we check the store?” she asked.
“Might as well get it over with.” Nate turned his key in the lock. She followed him into the familiar interior, which seemed forlorn without recent attention. Dust motes swirled as they walked up the center aisle. Nate sniffed the stale air. “Thank goodness Odom removed the bucket of fresh fish I had out back. I sent word that the Simses should take home any produce that might spoil. All in all, I see nothing amiss. With food riots in other parts of the Carolinas, I’m a very lucky man.” When he turned around, they were face-to-face a foot apart. “And I’m not talking solely about my livelihood.” His hand reached for her but then hesitated. “I couldn’t think of anything but you when they arrested me. Now I feel ashamed for burdening you in such a way, perhaps even placing you in danger. Forgive me, Amanda.”
“Nonsense. You are my friend if you still cannot accept what my kiss implied. And how was I in danger? Sipping tea in the Stewarts’ parlor or perhaps riding downtown in their luxurious carriage?” She clucked her tongue.
“How did it look to Judge Stewart that I relied on a woman to rescue me? Literature, at the very least, mandates the male of the species be the chivalrous one.” Nate lifted a towel from the hook to dust the counter, a not very subtle avoidance maneuver.
Amanda yanked on his arm like a spoiled child seeking attention. “Do you value Judge Stewart’s opinion over personal liberty? What do we care what others in town think about us? Our opinions of each other should take precedence.”
Nate filled a cloth sack with food to take to the Simses. “Did Judge Stewart improve your debate skills during the ride to the jail?”
“He did not. This is a gift inherited from my papa, and a natural reaction when someone you care about behaves like a mule.”
A ghost of smile flitted across his face. “Please don’t think me ungrateful, Miss Dunn, but now I feel even more unworthy of you.” He backed away from her. “I will secure the door and then walk you home. Your sister must be worried about you.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he disappeared into the stockroom. Why was he acting this way? She had assumed his request for help and her immediate reaction would cement their bond, not drive them apart.
Five minutes later they were hurrying down Water Street toward Orange Street as though the waterfront were ablaze. “Have we entered a foot race, Mr. Cooper?”
“Excuse me.” He stopped short next to a garishly painted bakery. “But we shouldn’t rile your brother-in-law more than we already have.”
Amanda pulled her arm from his grip. “Nate, I’m not taking another step until you tell me what’s gotten into you!” She fixed him with a glare that would have turned a lesser man to stone.
He considered for several moments. “Very well. I feel you acted on my behalf without full knowledge of the circumstances or the truth regarding my political convictions.”
“What do you mean?” She moved under an awning to avoid a sudden light drizzle.
“Judge Stewart read a flowery affidavit attesting to my loyalty to the Confederacy and my usefulness in Wilmington as a civilian. They released me based on his word. Yet there was some truth to the militia’s charges. I have avoided conscription on several occasions, and not because of religious convictions, so draft-dodging is correct. And I won’t fight to preserve slavery. I hope to see our nation restored without the abominable institution. I even went so far as to attend a pro-Union rally n
ot long ago. So I have played you and Judge Stewart falsely. Your actions were based on incorrect assumptions.” He grimaced as though in pain.
“That’s what troubles you? We may have played Judge Stewart falsely, and I also abhor slavery. My behavior was based on loyalty to you, not the South. If you recall, I’m British.” She linked her arm through his. “Can we proceed at a respectable pace that won’t cause me to faint?”
He bobbed his head to hide a blush. “I’m certain you have never fainted in your life.”
“And I don’t plan to start today. Now tell me about that pro-Union rally. Was it here in Wilmington?”
“It was terrifying, if you must know. It was held in an abandoned barn outside of town. Crazed zealots were bent on destruction. They were no different from Quantrill’s raiders in Missouri. I’ll have no part of waging war on innocent citizens. There you have it, Amanda. You are a foreigner stranded in an alien country, whereas I am a native son without affiliation to either side.”
“Then we shall be a land of two and take comfort in each other.”
They crossed the street, dodging puddles that had quickly formed from the sudden shower. Nate remained silent so long she thought he hadn’t heard her. Then he circled her waist with his arm and squeezed until she thought her heart, if not her ribs, would break.
If ever he could have used something memorable to say, it was during the twenty-minute walk back to the Henthorne mansion. Yet for some reason Nate wasn’t embarrassed by the silence. With Amanda’s small hand in his, he neither minded the gentle rain on his cheeks nor the steep hill separating the waterfront from Third Street. It felt good to have her next to his side. All the unpleasantness from the last two days, along with his dragging her into trouble, fell away. An exquisite possibility that their relationship could thrive took root and began to grow.
When they reached the home of her sister, Amanda turned her perfect, oval-shaped face up to his. “Thank you for walking me back, sir. I know I should go inside, but I fear life will be dreadfully dull compared to my last twenty-four hours.”
