Southern Rain (Torn Asunder Series Book 1)

by Tara Cowan

  “Yes,” she said faintly. “I presumed the military to be plotting, but they must have anticipated this…this lawless riot.” She watched the scene below her unseeingly. “I asked if I might come here, and he said yes, that he would be grateful to Mr. Middleton. Now I understand what he meant.”

  Elizabeth pressed her hand. “I think we will hear nothing tonight. You will stay here. He knew you might do so, I suppose. I do not want you to set foot out of the door.”

  Shannon did not respond, barely hearing.

  “Come, Shannon, you mustn’t worry. It will do no good.”

  “Not only that. The election.”

  Elizabeth glanced at her father.

  “You mustn’t worry, my dear,” he said, looking the epitome of the Southern gentleman as he sat, legs crossed, with his glass in hand. “I am sure some peaceful resolution can be reached. Come now, your father wouldn’t wish to see you looking like that. It isn’t for you to trouble yourself with.”

  Shannon turned her rings on her slim fingers. “I only wish the ones who were troubling themselves instilled more faith in me.”

  “Well, you are certainly in a unique situation, and naturally, you are worried for your husband should there be a conflict. Indeed, any devoted wife must be, I imagine. But he is an officer, and unlikely to be deeply involved in any short unpleasantness there might be.”

  “There, you see?” Elizabeth said. “Come, Shannon, I will show you to my room.” She looked over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Papa.”

  “Goodnight, my dear. We will have news in the morning, I imagine.”

  And they did. Abraham Lincoln was elected without a single vote from a Southern state. And South Carolina was calling a secession convention.

  Washington, D.C., November 1860

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  John Thomas climbed the stairs at his house, the hallways darkened. He had hoped to be released early and spend the evening with Shannon. Her nerves were tense, her eyes troubled, and he wanted to be with her as much as possible. But instead, he would be lucky if she weren’t already asleep. He didn’t knock for fear of waking her but instead opened the door softly. He saw her in their bedchamber, sitting on the hearth by the fireplace in her dressing gown. Her hair was almost dry, and perhaps Phoebe had insisted she sit there because of the chill in the air.

  He met her eyes, and she smiled. He went forward, sitting down beside her. He touched her cheek and kissed her lips.

  “I missed you tonight,” she whispered.

  “I missed you.” Eyes closed, he kissed her cheek, her temple.

  “You look weary.”

  “Not too much.” He lifted his head, forcing himself to tamp down his passion. He had only said six words to her. “Your day?”

  “Pleasant enough. I have been hatching a plan to have Lieutenants Hughes and Jay to supper. And then, before they know it, I shall have taken them under my wing and found wives for them.”

  He laughed softly. “Invite them if you wish, but must you play matchmaker?”

  “Yes, you cannot think how fatiguing it is always to be the only female in the room whenever we are with your friends. If they are not single, they seemed to have left their wives at home, and I do not count that vulgar Milner woman as a contemporary.”

  “That is because you are uppity, love,” he said, sitting back on his hands.

  “If it is uppity to disdain garish plaids and a voice booming across the dining table where the hostess came by her pig, I claim the moniker with pride.”

  She had him laughing halfway into this speech, and he looked at her with challenge as her eyes sparkled with something else. “Don’t say it.”

  “Well I wasn’t going to mention that she is a Northerner, but–” She laughed as he reached for her and drew her roughly into his lap. “There, you have quite overpowered me, you brute.”

  His eyes shone. “You are beautiful,” he said softly.

  The touch on his shoulders changed from light to longing in seconds, her hands smoothing down them.

  He began kissing her again, and she soon was lost in passion, too, and he thought that maybe tonight… Her hands mussed his hair, her back arching as he brought her closer, lengthening the column of his throat to reach her. He reached for the ribbons on her dressing gown, edging away from the fire. But then he felt her hands against his chest and broke off, pain tightening his lungs.

  She smiled gently, stroking his arm. “It is so late, and…I am tired.”

  “Tell me the truth, Shannon,” he said softly, holding her eyes. “No matter how unpleasant, I’ll bear it easier than knowing you are lying to me.”

  Her lips parted, and she paled. He waited, his eyes never leaving hers.

  She pressed her lips together, looking away, then finally met his eyes again. After another moment passed, she said softly, “Sometimes…” Her cheeks bloomed with color. “Sometimes I have pain,” she said haltingly.

  She watched his brows draw together, and then, when understanding dawned, his lips parted, his face paling. His lips moved, but it seemed he could not speak. He gripped her hand. “Shannon…” It was a mere whisper. She had never seen him look thus. “I have been taking pleasure, and causing you pain?” he whispered, barely audibly.

  “No,” she shook her head. “No, it has only happened a few times, and–”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, pain in the lines about his mouth.

  “I didn’t wish to upset you. I…I spoke with a doctor.” He looked shocked anew. She rushed to add, “He said that he cannot reason as to the cause, and that…that it might be better to wait two months… And then to see.”

  He set her gently aside and got up distractedly, pacing a few steps away in the glow of the fire as she watched him. He dragged a hand through his hair and said nothing, seemingly in great turmoil.

  Shannon tucked her dressing gown about her, feeling the absence of his warmth. She moistened her lips. “You…You must not feel it so,” she said very softly.

  He finally looked at her. “How many times?” he whispered.

  “Not…not many.”

  “How many?”

  She swallowed. “Three.”

  His eyes closed, and he turned, to hide his emotion, she knew. She got up and went to him, touching his arm, looking up into his face. “Why didn’t you stop me?” he whispered.

  She looked at him, a tear rolling down her cheek, at a loss. “I…”

  He turned, looking as though he had thought of something else. He touched her upper arms. “What if something is wrong? Which doctor saw you?”

  She thought for a moment, summoning his name. “Smith.”

  “What did you say that he said?”

  “That he has heard of such things, but usually with more symptoms–”

  “What symptoms?” His eyes scanned her face.

  “Please, I cannot… And I do not have them. He says that sometimes there is no cause, and it will cease, given the proper time. And indeed, I am very sorry that I…lied. But I hoped not to trouble you.”

  He cupped her cheek, stroking it. “Please. Trouble me in the future.”

  She moistened her lips. “Very well,” she whispered.

  He held her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

  Her eyes misted at his gentility, his goodness. She shook her head, bringing his hand to her lips for a kiss.

  He swallowed. “It is late.”

  “Yes.”

  “You ought to go to bed.”

  “Yes, Mammy.”

  Finally, he smiled. He touched the small of her back, leading her and then lifting her so that she did not have to use the stool. He kissed her forehead as she lay back. “I…miss you,” she whispered. She kissed his cheek, whispering in his ear, “And it is only for another week.”

  He covered her
with the lacy sheets, cupping her cheek briefly. “It can wait,” he said simply, seemingly distracted. His fingers grazed her cheek in an absent caress.

  She smiled, but it slipped as she watched him walk away, presumably down to his study to read, or perhaps collect himself. She had put a distance between them, as palpable as the empty place next to her in the bed. How differently tonight might have been if not for her.

  Determined to put aside the gloom of politics, Shannon did indeed invite Lieutenants Shalto Hughes and Richard Jay to dinner, and they were delighted to attend. They were invited often enough to parties, but rarely intimate ones with a charming hostess who made everything so comfortable they felt themselves to be at home.

  Shannon stood to greet them when John Thomas brought them into the parlor, extending her hands and looking exquisitely feminine. Both were extremely gallant, and she was lavished with so much attention that her mood was set for the evening. “Which of you is the elder? You may take me in to dinner. John Thomas has given me permission to flirt with you tonight, you see,” she said, tossing a roguish look over her shoulder.

  “Have I?”

  “You have, indeed. Well?”

  “Hughes, by three months,” Jay sighed.

  Shannon gave the Georgian her hand, saying, “I should’ve preferred to be walked in by a Southerner, in any event.” He grinned, eyes twinkling. His hair was golden, his face passably good-looking.

  “Oho!” Lieutenant Jay said. “That is meant as my punishment for bad flirtation over the course of these last weeks, I daresay, but what are you being punished for, Haley?”

  “The dog, I imagine. My wife fancies a lapdog, and believes it should keep her good company,” he said, touching the small of her back briefly as he helped her into her chair, allowing her to arrange her skirts before pushing the chair in. “I say she would soon grow tired of an overfed pug and wish me to dispose of it.”

  “Not dispose! What a terrible word!”

  “I shouldn’t think you would like it, Mrs. Haley,” Lieutenant Jay said. “Perhaps an Italian Greyhound, but not a pug.”

  “Oh, very well, I am overborne. You may purchase me an Italian Greyhound, John Thomas.” He looked at her, shaking his head indulgently, and said, “Witness my wife’s meekness, sirs.”

  “Mrs. Haley is the greatest lady in Washington,” Lieutenant Jay said, to which Lieutenant Hughes added, “Here, here!,” raising his glass.

  “It is unanimous, then,” John Thomas said, smiling lovingly, raising his glass also. Shannon, quite merry, set the conversation in pleasing courses, as she had been trained to do from an early age.

  Lieutenant Hughes was an only son of a widower father of moderate means who had, it seemed, a charming house in Savannah and some five or six slaves. Lieutenant Jay was of a large Philadelphia family, likely descended from humble Quakers. His father had served as a magistrate for a few terms after many years as a solicitor.

  “Did you say that he is in his retirement, Jay?” John Thomas during the course of the meal.

  “My father? Good heavens, no. He is only forty-five, and with the girls likely to be expensive, he must work himself to the grave.”

  “Now, I consider that most unjust, Lieutenant,” Shannon said, sipping from her glass. “Sons are much more expensive than daughters, with their grand tours, and university fees, and horses, and such.”

  “No, no, no! Ballgowns, and bonnets, and dowries… And there were no grand tours or horses for me. We were rather more modestly situated than Ravenel or Haley, the two wealthiest fellows in our class, as we all knew,” he said, eyes twinkling.

  A slight flush tinged John Thomas’s cheekbones, and he looked up, shaking his head long-sufferingly.

  “Yes, very true,” Lieutenant Hughes chimed in. “Ravenel with his Negro valet and Haley with his charity. I wish I might’ve been one of his charities!”

  Shannon laughed. “I doubt he should’ve improved upon you, although if anyone could…” she said, extending a hand lovingly toward her husband. He smiled, kissing her fingers dutifully.

  Lieutenant Jay, his dark locks glowing under the gas lighting, said, “A romantic ideal, wouldn’t you say, Hughes?”

  Shannon flushed as Lieutenant Hughes said, “Yes, it makes one almost ill, the love and harmony around one.”

  “That is why Shannon has brought you here,” John Thomas said. “She intends to find wives for the both of you, purely for selfish purposes.”

  “No, not purely for selfish purposes. I should like to see the both of you happily settled. Men were not really meant for bachelordom, you know. Now Lieutenant Jay, I believe I have someone in mind for you: she is a lively girl with a very pretty face, an excellent figure, and very moral—of good quality, I mean.”

  “My dear Mrs. Haley, I shall take your word for it and marry her tomorrow, if such a lady does indeed exist—other than yourself, I mean.”

  Her eyes twinkled, but she said dampeningly, “Certainly you shall not be trusted to choose for yourself. But I confess myself rather at a loss as to what to do with Lieutenant Hughes. He is a quieter sort, and I do not think he would match well with a lively girl. I think she would agitate him.”

  “Yes, that is probably true,” he responded, joining handsomely into the spirit of things.

  “Tell me, do you like red-heads, like Lieutenant Haley, or dark beauties or fair?”

  “Do I prefer red-heads?” Lieutenant Haley asked.

  “Indeed, you do. Well?”

  “I suppose…” It was a terrible quandary for a Southern gentleman. “Naturally red hair is beautiful–”

  “Careful, Shalto,” John Thomas warned.

  “I said it was beautiful!”

  “But sadly he prefers blondes,” Jay said.

  “Oh, do you? No, I am not offended, for there is no accounting for tastes. I shall think on it, and hopefully have someone in mind by Christmas.”

  It was not long before they moved into the parlor, Shannon sitting near Lieutenant Hughes by the fireplace and the other men taking the chairs across the room. Shannon had watched them, pleased to find that they had a great affection for her husband, even seemed to defer to him sometimes, as though he were their natural leader or superior in rank. They treated her with gallant flirtation but never passed the line, and she felt herself to be safe with them.

  She was just imagining inviting them to dine often during the winter when she saw Lieutenant Hughes staring into the fire, and the enormity of the situation crashed around her again.

  She moistened her lips and said softly, “Will you…stay if…”

  He glanced at her, silent for a moment, and then answered almost in a whisper, glancing at the other two, “I cannot… I hope Georgia remains. But I cannot cut myself off from my father, fight against him… I am all he has.”

  Shannon swallowed.

  “Please,” he said. “Don’t… I ought not to have said that, only you…”

  “I shan’t reveal your confidences. And of course, I…understand…” She only then realized the gravity of what it would mean for a man like Shalto Hughes to decamp, how his life might be at stake, any chance of a career, at least with the United States military, at an end. “Might you not…bring your father north?”

  “I shouldn’t ask it of him,” he said simply.

  Lieutenant Jay said something then, about the need to allow Mrs. Haley her beauty rest, and they both got up soon, their hosts bidding them good night.

  When John Thomas came back into the room, his brows were drawn together.

  Shannon watched him for a moment as she snuffed out a candle. “You did not mind my flirtation?”

  “What? Oh. No,” he said, smiling fleetingly. “I’m worried about Hughes.”

  Shannon met his eyes in the gentle glow of the darkened room. After a tick of the clock, she said, “I believe he does f
eel it very deeply.”

  “Yes.” She watched him. He had been reticent, abstracted since that night. She might have continued a lie if she had known how deeply it would affect him. He had not touched her, and she did not think he would, perhaps ever, until she came to him.

  Seeming to remember his audience, he walked toward her, putting his hands on her waist softly, her skirt belling over his shoes. “You are an excellent hostess,” he said, kissing her cheek.

  Moving her hands from his arms, Shannon touched his cheek, and boldly kissed his lips. His fingers pressed into her, and he pulled her a little nearer, his lips touching hers again. He stopped a few moments later, however. “You must be tired,” he said, releasing her and looking away.

  “No,” she said softly. “I am not.”

  He looked up at her, holding her eyes for a long moment. He shook his head.

  “Why?” she croaked.

  There was emotion in his face, and in his voice when he spoke. “Shannon, I cannot…” She swallowed, a tear rolling down her cheek. He went forward immediately, face breaking. “The thought of hurting you, I…”

  She pressed her lips together, finding the courage to whisper, “I will tell you.”

  “Will you?” he asked hoarsely. “You–”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He seemed to waver, looking away, swallowing.

  She bit her lip. “I wish I had not told you,” she whispered. “I did not mean to ruin…” What had been a delight to them both, what had connected them, reconciled them, strengthened them.

  “You have ruined nothing,” he said, emotion in his voice, before kissing her again, their lips touching softly, lingering. She realized he was almost trembling with passion, but he broke off. “Forgive me,” he mumbled, releasing her and walking away. He strode through the door, leaving her to wonder at his thoughts, and a tear to roll down her cheek.