Unwilling Warrior

by Andrea Boeshaar

  Ben stood. “Miss Fontaine.” He couldn’t help but notice that her less formal attire, a green and black plaid dress with a wide, ivory crocheted collar, was still far fancier than anything his sisters ever wore.

  Her gaze fell to his Bible. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “Not at all.” Ben moved around the table and held out her chair.

  She sat down and he caught a faint whiff of lavender . . . lavender and something else. Something both sweet and strong. Then her gaze caught his, and she gave him a smile. Just as last night, Ben felt intoxicated by her presence.

  “You look lovely this morning.”

  A pretty pink hue appeared in her cheeks. “Why, thank you.”

  He reclaimed his own seat at the table.

  “I trust you slept well.”

  “I did, indeed.” Ben grinned and she returned the gesture.

  Adalia appeared with another silver service, but this time it contained tea. She poured out, and as Valerie sipped from the cup, Ben took note of the way her slender fingers curled around the fragile dishware.

  “Breakfast’ll be a tad late, Miss,” Adalia said. “Chastean’s little boy took ill again and she had to leave for a bit, but she’s back now.”

  “Quite all right. Please tell Chastean that I hope her son is feeling better soon.”

  After an efficient nod, the maid left the room once more.

  Ben turned to Valerie again. “Your staff is hired.”

  “That’s correct. My father doesn’t own slaves. Adalia came from London, Ephraim from New York City. Chastean, our cook, and Willie, our head liveryman, are free blacks.”

  Ben respected Valerie’s father already. He’d never got along with the idea that one man could own another.

  Valerie’s eyes roamed over the Bible again. “I wouldn’t mind a bit if you read aloud while we’re waiting for our meal.”

  Ben gladly acquiesced. “I was just finishing chapter six in the Book of Matthew.” He found his place at verse twenty-six and read to the end. When he finished, he looked up and caught Valerie’s gaze. Her expression seemed a mix of sadness and confusion.

  “Anything wrong, Miss Fontaine?”

  “Well, I . . . I . . . ” She blinked and took to studying her teacup. “I wonder why God, who supposedly only wants what’s best for me, allowed my mother to die and leave me all alone. I miss her terribly.”

  Ben stretched his arm across the table and placed his hand on the top of hers. “But you’re not alone. You have your father—and your heavenly Father.”

  “Oh, please don’t misunderstand. I love Jesus, and I trust Him with all of my soul. It’s just . . . seeing how Mama’s death has affected my father.” She shook her dark head of curls. “I have a hard time understanding what good could come out of it.”

  “Your father is still taking your mother’s death badly?”

  Valerie nodded as her eyes brimmed with tears.

  “Well, we’ll keep praying for him,” he said, wishing his brother Luke was here to offer his chaplain’s wisdom.

  Running one of her graceful fingers around the rim of her teacup, Valerie inclined her head. Her reflective, sad expression remained.

  “I sense there’s something else.”

  “Yes.” Her small shoulders sagged as she exhaled. “Lately, my f–father has . . . well, Father is . . . ”

  “Miss Fontaine, has your father taken ill?”

  “Not ill, exactly.” She lifted her gaze and looked beyond him. Her eyes suddenly widened, and Ben turned to see the very topic of their conversation stroll into the dining room. The man was impeccably dressed in tan trousers, a matching waistcoat, and a starched white shirt.

  “We were just talking about you, Father.” Valerie’s voice held a nervous lilt. “Our guest wondered how you fared.”

  “I’ve been better.”

  Ben stood and extended his right hand. “Benjamin McCabe, sir.”

  “Nice to meet you.” With a quick handshake and a curt nod of his dark head, Mr. Fontaine moved to the far end of the table.

  “Father, we had a marvelous time at the Donahues’ last night,” Valerie began as the maid brought in their meal. She set down a serving bowl filled with scrambled eggs, followed by a platter of meats and cheeses surrounded by a variety of sliced breads. “I wish you’d have been there.”

  Ben didn’t miss the hooded glance of warning Mr. Fontaine sent his daughter.

  She sipped her tea.

  Ben surveyed the food around him. “My, but this would feed an entire regiment.”

  Valerie smiled. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Sure am.”

  Fontaine stabbed his fork into a slice of ham.

  “Shall I ask the blessing?” Ben offered. Valerie folded her hands, bowed her head, and Edward had the good grace to set aside his fork.

  Once Ben gave thanks, the meal commenced in earnest. He put a bite of the fluffiest eggs he’d tasted into his mouth. Then he bit into a slice of sweet bread. “Delicious.”

  Valerie sent him a pleased smile. Then she glanced at her father. “Benjamin is a photographer. Isn’t that interesting? He’s been traveling with our brave men, documenting their progress. He’s also looking for his brother Luke, who’s been missing ever since the battle last July.”

  “How unfortunate about your brother. You have my sympathies, Mr. McCabe.” Fontaine looked a tad wary as he drank his coffee. “Was your brother a Confederate soldier?”

  “No, his views are neutral, as are mine, and Luke is a chaplain.” Ben grinned. “I don’t like referring to my brother in the past tense.”

  “Of course. Forgive me.” Fontaine took another drink from his cup. “And why have you taken a neutral stance?”

  “The journalist in me needs to be objective.”

  “Ah, of course.” The silence that followed stretched into awkward discomfort.

  Valerie spoke up again. “I must say, Colonel LaPorte was quite impressed with Benjamin’s occupation, Father. In fact, the two are meeting this morning.”

  Fontaine stiffened. “Meeting with LaPorte, you say?” His dark gaze shifted from his daughter to Ben.

  “Yes, the colonel seemed eager last night to speak to Benjamin about some possible work.”

  “I see.” His gaze fixed on Ben. “About photographic work?”

  “I’m assuming so.” Ben shrugged. “I guess I’ll find that out today.”

  Fontaine seemed to consider the information as he took another drink of coffee. “You’ll have to let me know. I’d be interested to hear about this possible new opportunity of yours.”

  “Certainly. Do you know the colonel, sir?”

  “I know of him. He commands about ten companies, all heavy artillery, and they’re stationed at Forts Jackson and St. Phillip.”

  “The garrisons guarding the mouth of the Mississippi.”

  “Correct.” He eyed him over the rim of his coffee cup. “You’re very well informed, I see.”

  “An occupational must for me.”

  Fontaine grinned. “Then you’ll understand that because I’m in the shipping business, I’m familiar with La Porte and his troops.”

  “Makes sense.” Had he known that Edward Fontaine was in the shipping business? Pa must have said something to that effect. And speaking of Pa . . . “May I broach a different topic, Mr. Fontaine?”

  “By all means.”

  “If you’ll recall my telegraph, I’m here on behalf of my father. He’s been concerned about you. What shall I tell him?”

  He lifted one dark brow. “Judge for yourself. I’m living and breathing.”

  “A very good start, sir.” Ben hoped to add a little levity to the conversation so Mr. Fontaine would relax in his company.

  The man completely changed the subject. “I’m leaving. I have a meeting.”

  “On New Year’s Day, Father?” A disappointed frown puckered Valerie’s brows. “But I thought we’d—”

  “It’s business, ma fille.
I’ll have no arguments from you.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  Ben glimpsed the hurt expression on Valerie’s face and wished he could do something to cheer her up again. She was even more beautiful when she smiled.

  Mr. Fontaine stood and inclined his head toward Ben once again. “Perhaps we’ll get a chance to talk later. Meanwhile, enjoy your stay. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” With that he strode from the room.

  “But Father, you haven’t touched your breakfast.”

  Ben heard the man pause somewhere behind him, then saw Valerie’s look of chagrin.

  A good minute later she said, “I must apologize for what just happened. As I stated before, my father’s not been himself since Mama died, and I seem to be adding insult to injury.”

  “I can’t imagine that. You obviously care deeply for your father. I’m sure he knows that.”

  Valerie rolled her shoulders.

  “Last night you mentioned your father wasn’t pleased that you’re home from boarding school. Would you mind sharing the reasons for your return with me now? If I’m being too forward, just say so.”

  “Not at all.” Valerie lowered her teacup into its saucer and continued to stare at it. “When I received the news of my mother’s death, everything in my life changed. Mama was my anchor. She was the one person in this world with whom I connected. I loved and trusted her. She was more than just my mother. She was my best friend.”

  Ben heard the little tremor in Valerie’s voice, and his heart ached for her.

  “Now that she’s gone, I feel like a ship floating aimlessly out to sea. I’m at the mercy of every raging storm that comes along.” Finally she looked at Ben. “I feel vulnerable, scared, and . . . alone.” Embarrassment suddenly masked her features. “I imagine you might think I should add silly and childish to that list.”

  “I don’t think you’re either at all. Your pain is very obvious to me. But I don’t agree that you’re alone.”

  “I’m not speaking about my spiritual life.”

  “I understand. But from what I saw last night, you’ve got plenty of friends and even more acquaintances.”

  She fell silent for several seconds. “Benjamin, things aren’t always as they appear.”

  And who would know that better than he? Reaching across the table once more, Ben set his palm on the top of her hand. “You’re right.”

  At that moment Adalia burst into the room, and Ben straightened in his chair. “Your father just left the house, dearie.”

  “He said he had a meeting.”

  “He also said he won’t be back for dinner.”

  “Nothing unusual about that, now, is there?” Valerie’s expressive, beryl blue eyes grew misty, but she lifted her gaze and shrugged her shoulder as if she didn’t care.

  “I’ll tell Chastean there’ll only be you and Mr. McCabe for dinner tonight.”

  “Ah, well . . . ” Ben halted the maid. “I’ve been invited to dine at the Elliots’ home.”

  “Then it’ll be one for supper, Adalia,” Valerie said.

  “Unless . . . ” Ben caught her eye. “Unless Miss Fontaine will accompany me.”

  She blinked in surprise. “To the Elliots’ home?”

  Ben inclined his head. “I’ll call on them to make sure it isn’t an imposition.”

  “Well, if it’s not . . . ”

  “Knowing Cousin Max and Cousin Amanda, it won’t be.”

  Valerie thought it over for several moments before smiling. “Then I’d be honored.”

  Five

  Your offer is quite tempting, but I’m afraid I can’t accept it.” Ben strode across Colonel LaPorte’s darkly paneled study and stared out a bank of windows that overlooked the expanse of LaPorte’s property. He recalled his conversation with Edward Fontaine this morning and heard much the same from the colonel just now by way of introduction. The colonel oversaw a heavy artillery battalion and wanted particular photographs for the Confederate Navy. But it just wasn’t possible. “It would take Clint and me weeks to get you the sort of pictures you’re asking for, and I don’t have that kind of time to spare. I’ve got to find my brother Luke.”

  “You say he went missing in Virginia?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Any leads?”

  “A few, but none panned out.”

  “Hmm . . . ” The colonel fingered his silvery mustache while a pensive frown knit his brows. “Tell you what.” He leaned forward. “If you’ll take my offer, I’ll call in a few favors and pull some strings. Of course, there’s no guarantee that any of my men have seen him.”

  Ben pursed his lips and thought it over. The colonel might be able to accomplish by telegraph to his commanders in the field what would take him months to discover on the road. “Why are you asking my partner and me to do this particular assignment when there are photographers aplenty here in New Orleans?”

  “Because none of them are . . . well, as objective as I’d like.”

  “Hmm . . . ” Ben sensed there was something more but decided at this point it was none of his concern.

  He rubbed his jaw, mulling it over. The assignment wouldn’t be difficult, just time consuming. He walked to the padded leather armchair in front of the colonel’s wide desk and sat down. “So let me get this straight. You want detailed pictures from Forts Jackson and St. Phillip along with photographs of the ports here in New Orleans and in Baton Rouge.”

  “Correct, and I’ll pay you top dollar for them.”

  Ben didn’t like the idea of taking sides, but if it would help him find Luke . . .

  “And you’ll put forth an earnest effort to help me find my brother?”

  “Yes. You have my word.”

  Ben weighed the offer again. “Well, let me discuss the particulars with my partner, and I’ll get back to you.”

  The colonel shifted in his seat. “Fine, but it’s imperative that our conversation goes no further than your partner. No one else must know.” He narrowed his gaze. “That includes your host and his lovely daughter.”

  The remark gave Ben pause, and his expression must have asked the obvious.

  “I did some asking around,” the colonel said, “last night at the Donahues’ party.”

  “I see.” Ben drew himself up. “All right. I’ll hold this matter in the strictest confidence.”

  ***

  Cathedral bells marked high noon when Ben halted his horse and dismounted. He wrapped the reins around the hitching post in front of the Elliots’ home. The quaint parsonage, situated on the east side of the unpaved road, looked just as he remembered from years ago when he’d last visited. He had to admit the simple red brick dwelling adjoining the church appeared inconsequential compared to the more ornately decorated structures that he remembered seeing in this city.

  He knocked at the front door and, minutes later, it opened. He was greeted by a reed-thin woman about his age with nondescript brown hair and pale eyes that looked too large for her face.

  Ben recognized her at once and removed his hat. “Hello, Catherine.”

  “Why, Ben McCabe!” A smile pushed up her hollow cheeks. “Is that really you?”

  “In the flesh.” He chuckled at her startled expression.

  “Please come in.” She opened the door wider to allow him room to step inside. “Mama, look who’s here. Mama, it’s Ben McCabe. All the way from Missouri!”

  Once inside, Ben noticed her height rivaled his six feet, give or take an inch. She held out her hand.

  He took it politely. “I’ve been to a lot of places, really. It’s been over a year since I’ve been home.” He released her hand.

  “Well, it’s so good to see you again.” Her smile faded. “Any word from Luke?”

  Ben shook his head. “But I’m not giving up.”

  “Such a shame.”

  “I’ll find him.”

  Catherine looked doubtful.

  He looked past her then, as Cousin Amanda swept into the room. “Ben! How marvelous to see
you!” Tall and lean like her daughter, she didn’t appear to have aged a bit, although wisps of gray graced her narrow face. “I hope you’ll stay with us while you’re in New Orleans.”

  “And hopefully it’ll be a good long while,” Catherine added.

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I know you don’t have extra room here.”

  “We’d make room,” Amanda insisted.

  Ben smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m staying at the home of Edward Fontaine and his daughter, Valerie.”

  “The Fontaines?” Catherine’s jaw slacked, and she looked at her mother with skepticism creasing her brows.

  “Pa asked me to check on Mr. Fontaine,” Ben explained. “When I wired to say I was coming, Mr. Fontaine asked me to stay as his guest. Thought I would—as a favor to Pa. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course.” Amanda gave him a motherly hug. “Disappointed, perhaps . . . ”

  “I promise to stay another time.”

  “I’ll take you up on that.” She looked him over, as if checking to be sure he was in good health. Satisfied, Cousin Amanda stepped back. “So how is Mr. Fontaine?” Her voice held its usual gentle and caring tone.

  “Struggling at best.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. Max has tried to follow up after Marguerite’s death, but he never finds the man at home.”

  “But, as you know, Valerie is there now.” Catherine shook her mousy-brown head. “I heard she left boarding school without her father’s permission . . . just in time for all of New Orleans’s balls.” Her brow furrowed and a stern glint entered her eyes. “She’s a rebellious one, that Valerie. I know. My classroom is filled with the same such disobedient imps.”

  “Forgive me, but I believe there’s more to Valerie’s homecoming story.” Ben found himself bristling at Catherine’s remark.

  “Hmm, well, I suppose there always two sides to everything.” Catherine’s schoolmarm expression softened, but in a way that made Ben wonder if she was really contrite.

  He shifted his stance. “Actually, Miss Fontaine is the reason for my visit this afternoon.”

  Catherine stepped forward. “Don’t tell me you’re not planning to eat New Year’s Day dinner with us tonight.” She seemed alarmed.