Adalia cleared her throat loudly.
“Same with Violet.”
Again Adalia cleared her throat, but this time she added a hacking cough.
Valerie whirled around to face the plump maid. “Good heavens! Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, miss. It’s just that you mentioned you needed a chaperone today, and well, I believe I’m available.”
Valerie inhaled sharply. “You?” She thought it over, then a smile inched its way across her lovely face. “That would be marvelous!”
“I can be ready to leave right away,” Adalia added.
“You don’t suppose my father will mind?” Valerie pressed her pink lips together in thought.
“Oh, I imagine he won’t be bothered one bit. He left early again and said he wouldn’t be returning for another day or two.” The maid shrugged. “Some sort of important meeting. Meanwhile, Chastean is here and can cover for me, should something arise.” Arching a brow, she added, “Besides, I think y’ father would be more vexed if you went off without a proper chaperone.”
“You’ve got a point there.” Valerie folded her hands. “Then it’s settled.” She looked at Ben and smiled.
“There will be other women at the campsite too,” he said. “Some are visiting their husbands, and others cook, sew, and write letters for the men before they leave for battle.”
“I could write some letters,” Adalia offered.
“So could I.” Valerie’s sunny disposition shone all the brighter.
He grinned, hardly able to take his gaze off the younger woman. “Good.”
“Will the soldiers need food?” Adalia wanted to know. “Chastean made a pot of soup we could take along.”
“I can secure the pot in the back of my wagon.” Ben forced his attention to the maid. “I haven’t met a soldier yet who turned away a home-cooked meal.” Anticipation swelled inside of him. This day was shaping up better than he’d imagined.
***
Around midmorning, Ben began to prepare his wagon for the short journey to the campsite. He hitched up his two horses and checked his equipment, the glass plates that were loaded into his camera, the chemicals he used to sensitize their surfaces, and more chemicals that he used in developing the pictures. Everything appeared to be in its rightful place.
Typically he and Clint developed their photographs right there on the campsite or, in the case of the battle at Bull Run, right there on the battlefield. It wasn’t a comfortable job, and the smell of ether was sometimes overwhelming. But when the nearest photographist’s studio was fifty, sometimes a hundred miles away, developing their own pictures was a necessity. However, today might prove a different story as Clint had mentioned wanting to check in with the photographer here in New Orleans. For a small fee, the man might allow them to use his developing studio.
“I believe I’m finally ready.”
Hearing her honeyed statement, Ben smiled. But when he pivoted and saw her walking toward him carrying a kettle and a small wicker basket, he rushed to relieve her of the load. The aroma of chicken broth and a mix of spices filled his senses. “I presume this is the soup Adalia spoke of earlier.” He lifted the pot and basket into his arms.
“Your presumption is quite correct, Mr. McCabe.” She feigned a lofty look before adjusting her woolen wrap. “And actually—” She opened the basket that he now held. “I believe there are a few jars of preserves in here as well.”
“This food will not go unappreciated. I can guarantee it.” He gently placed the kettle into the back of the wagon, then put the basket in beside it. They were each quite heavy. “Did you carry these items all the way from the kitchen?” Turning, he faced her once more.
She nodded and retied her bonnet so a large velvet bow now rested beneath her chin. “I’m really quite strong for a woman.”
Ben fought to conceal his grin. The words delicate and demure, even fragile seemed to more accurately describe Valerie Fontaine. Never strong, although she was full of surprises.
“Mama used to say we hail from sturdy stock.”
Ben gave in to a chuckle. “Is that right?”
Valerie bobbed her head before her attention turned to his unusual wagon. “My, my, this is quite the conveyance. I didn’t see it the night you came in, and then yesterday Willie brought around the buggy for us.”
“Yes, this is it. My home away from home and a portable darkroom.” Ben gave it a quick once-over. The vehicle had four wheels and a hitch, and its base was made of hardwood, just like most other wagons. Its only oddity was that the upper portion had extremely high wooden supports that were covered by a thick black drape, like a macabre covered wagon.
“I gather I am to ride on this contraption of yours.”
Ben laughed aloud at her tentative expression before nodding. “Sturdy stock and all.”
Valerie lifted one of her dark, shapely brows. “I sincerely hope you were referring to the soup.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am!” He swallowed another laugh.
She placed one hand on her hip. “Hmm . . . ”
Taking her hand, Ben helped her aboard the wagon, and once Adalia emerged a few minutes later, he assisted her up also. Finally he climbed up onto the long bench as well and collected the reins. A slap of the leather straps against the horses’ rumps, and they started off for the campsite.
“So tell me why your wagon is designed in such a peculiar fashion. Do people on the street stop to gawk as you pass by?”
“In answer to the first part of your question . . . ” Ben glanced at Valerie, enjoying her close proximity. “The back of my wagon serves as a portable darkroom. When I’m in the middle of nowhere and in need of a place to develop my pictures, this setup does a fine job.”
She glanced at a boy on the street who pointed at his odd vehicle. He saw her face flame. “I hope neither my wagon nor I are a source of embarrassment for you.”
She looked his way and her features softened. “I’m never ashamed to be in your company, Benjamin McCabe. Your wagon, on the other hand—” She momentarily peered over her shoulder at the boy who was now behind them. “—it does take a bit of getting used to.”
Adalia’s chortles reached his ears.
“Fair enough.” Ben too chuckled at her honesty.
“Imagine it. We were in Manassas at the same time,” Valerie said. “We might have passed each other on the road and never known it.” She paused. “On second thought, I’m sure I’d have remembered your wagon.”
Ben smiled. “I reckon you’re right about that.”
She grew quiet for several long minutes. Ben thought he could actually feel her heavy thoughts. “What are you thinking about so hard right now?”
“Well, to be perfectly honest, I was remembering how terribly afraid I felt after that first battle.”
Ben thought it over. “If it helps any, I learned you’ve got to talk through those bad times, sometimes more than once, or else that wily devil will haunt you with ’em. So feel free to talk away.” He didn’t mind listening.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Adalia reach over and pat the back of Valerie’s hand.
“I remember on that day in July, everyone was abuzz about the battle. It was supposed to be a quick victory for the Union; however, the battle seemed to drag on forever.” Valerie’s shoulder bumped against his when the wagon wheel rolled over a particularly large rut in the street. “Miss Hollingsworth kept us girls indoors, and we had a lengthy prayer time in the chapel. Later the newspapers were filled with stories about the hundreds of unknown dead buried in mass graves. I’d hoped they were gross exaggerations.”
“They weren’t.” He would never forget the sight of all those men’s bodies littered across the countryside. His camera recorded the scene forever.
“So it’s all true then?” There was no mistaking the tremor in Valerie’s voice.
Ben drew in a deep breath. “I’m afraid so.”
“All that killin’. It’s dreadful. Simply dreadful!” A
dalia exclaimed from her place on the other side of Valerie. “May God rest those poor boys’ souls. The way they must have suffered . . . ”
“Unimaginable!” Valerie held her gloved hands to her heart.
“Their mothers must be devastated,” Adalia said.
“Ladies, ladies . . . I think it’s time to change the subject.” He figured his female companions would be sobbing in another minute, and he couldn’t console the two of them and try to steer his team safely into camp at the same time. “I’ve got good news for you.”
They both regarded him with expectancy.
“The troops we’re visiting today are very much alive.”
***
Benjamin’s odd-looking wagon rolled into the Confederate campsite, garnering stares from everyone they passed. Valerie tamped down her embarrassment long enough to take in her surroundings. Several men clad in gray hustled along the muddy pathway that ran up the middle of the camp. A couple of them led horses, while others walked alone but with purposeful strides. Clusters of soldiers could be seen here and there, and more still sat outside of their tents, smoking, drinking coffee. And, just as Benjamin said, there were women too. Dozens of them. Valerie couldn’t quite believe her eyes. They were dressed in formal attire and strolled along, many arm in arm with their uniformed escorts.
“It’s not unusual for women to visit their husbands,” Benjamin explained, “especially since the ladies may not see them for months once this camp breaks up and the soldiers head for the front.”
Valerie thought those ladies must be quite brave to carry on with their lives after the men they loved went marching off, some never to be seen again.
“You’re frowning, Miss Fontaine.” She didn’t miss his teasing tone. “I’ve heard the habit leaves permanent winkles.”
“Very funny.”
He laughed. Then, helping her alight from the wagon, Benjamin introduced her and Adalia to his partner, Clint Culver, and his wife, Emily, who were setting up the photographic equipment. They’d obviously arrived sometime before and were situated in a wagon similar to Benjamin’s. The first two things Valerie noticed about Mr. Culver were his dark brown whiskers and eyes that possessed an enormous amount of energy as he darted around the wagon. She noticed too his wife’s slower movements as she assisted him.
Standing by, Valerie watched Benjamin pull equipment from his wagon. “What can I do to help you?” she asked when he came within earshot.
“Nothing right now.” He sent her one of his easy smiles. “I’m going to ask around about Luke, and then, later on, I’ll be grateful for your assistance as we begin taking photographs.”
“All right. Perhaps I’ll see if Adalia needs help with the food.”
“I’ll come along,” Emily offered. She tugged her wool coat around herself while wisps of cinnamon-colored hair slipped from the clip at her nape.
Together they headed toward where Valerie had last seen her trusted maid. She felt awed by the goings on around her—the din of voices, an occasional laugh. The entire base was a tent city, and beneath one of the larger canvas shelters a number of crude wooden tables had been erected—a makeshift dining hall. Nearby, kettles hung over open flames and bubbled with interesting brews.
“Ben didn’t tell us he’d have company today,” Emily said.
“Oh?” Valerie turned and regarded Emily Culver’s sweet-looking face. From the manner in which she spoke, Valerie guessed the woman wasn’t a Southerner. “Well, it was a last-minute decision.”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“You are?” The wind blew at their backs.
“Now I’ll have someone special to talk to. You must be special if Ben brought you along.”
Valerie didn’t know what to make of the remark. She felt flattered and, yes, special. However, her growing feelings for the handsome photographer had her mind in a whir. “Benjamin’s a guest in my father’s home. He simply extended an invitation to join him.”
“An invitation to work your fingers to the bone?” Emily laughed. “No, my dear, he only makes that sort of offer to people he cares about.”
“Excuse me?” Confused, Valerie halted in mid-stride and regarded Emily.
She stopped too. “I’m being facetious. Please forgive my sarcasm. I’ve grown accustomed to being around men like Ben . . . and Luke before last July.” For a second a sad shadow crossed her face. “All I meant to say is that it’s nice to have a female companion, even if it’s just for a day.”
A smile came easily to Valerie’s lips. In that moment she decided she liked Emily Culver—and her candor. It was a rare but precious trait in women.
“I hope we can be friends.”
“I’m sure we will be.”
Linking her arm with Valerie’s, Emily gave her a tug toward the mess tent.
“So,” Valerie said, “you’re not from the South, are you?”
Emily shook her head. “I’m from Boston. Clint and I met there. We met Ben there as well. New Orleans almost feels like the other end of the world.”
“I’m sure it does.” Valerie smiled. “So, Clint is from the South?”
“His family’s originally from Charleston, but they have relatives in Boston. An opportunity presented itself there, and so when Clint was sixteen years old, his father moved them to Massachusetts. Papa Culver is a merchant commissioner.”
“Really? My father’s in the shipping business too.”
“See? We have something in common already.”
They caught up to Adalia, who stirred the soup pot over an open fire in the outdoor kitchen area. Within minutes, the overseeing cook, a burly sergeant with a laugh as big as his paunch, put both Valerie and Emily to work, dishing out rations of stew to the men who came and stood in line with their tin cups in hand. Adalia too busied herself, doling out bread and serving soup. Before long Chastean’s expertly made food had been devoured.
“I could have brought five more pots of that soup.” Adalia’s voice sounded both pleased and perplexed. “These boys are so hungry I’m lucky they didn’t chew off m’ arm while I ladled out their helpings.”
Valerie felt glad to help their young men in gray, even in some small way.
Benjamin sat down for a quick bite to eat as well.
“Did you find out anything about your brother?” Valerie asked.
“Nothing.” His expression was downcast.
She touched his sleeve. “You’ll find him.”
He gave her a doubtful look.
“Don’t get discouraged.” She tipped her head, watching him swirl the coffee in his cup. “Perhaps this is a silly question, but why do you think Confederates might know where Luke is? You said your brother was—make that is—politically neutral.”
“We were closer to the Confederate lines when the army swept by us. I figure Luke got caught up with passing soldiers. Everything happened so fast.”
Valerie mulled it over, wishing there was something she could do.
“Well, I’d best get to work,” he said, changing the subject. “How ’bout helping me with the photographing process?”
“I’d be honored.” Valerie followed him back over to where his large, black, boxlike camera sat upon its tripod.
“Several officers have requested photographs of themselves and their wives. What I’d like for you to do is collect the money and write down the name of each man, the post office where his photograph can be sent, and the amount paid so I have a record in my logbook.”
“All right.”
He handed Valerie a ledger, a quill, and ink, and she set to the task. In between her documenting, she observed the photographic process.
Mr. Culver busied himself with the glass plates. He coated each with something called collodion.
Em sat beside her, on a chair that one of the soldiers brought over. “The whole procedure is tricky business even in a studio setting,” she explained to Valerie. “Clint sensitizes the plates for several minutes and . . . see him now?”
&
nbsp; Valerie watched as Mr. Culver pulled his wagon’s drape around himself. “What is he doing in there?” She craned her neck to see.
“Clint works beneath a reddish glow that’s filtered through special windows that won’t harm the plates like daylight will. He immerses each one in a silver nitrate bath. Once he blots away the excess chemical, he secures the plate in a wooden holder before taking to Ben, who operates the camera. It’s quite a science.”
“It seems so.”
At that precise moment, Mr. Culver reappeared from under the wagon’s tarp and rushed toward the camera, where he inserted the plate.
Benjamin had already pointed the instrument in the direction of the subject matter, in this case Captain Frederick Banks. Benjamin bent inside the camera. Its dark cloth covered his head. “Hold very still,” he told the captain.
Valerie found herself holding her breath as if her own movement would mar the photograph. Almost fifteen seconds later, Benjamin replaced the lens caps and the plate holder’s front cover. Valerie inhaled and watched as the protected plate came out of the camera and he ran it over to the wagon.
“Clint will store the exposed plates in a chemical mixture for the time being,” Emily said, as she leaned her head closer to Valerie. “The actual printing of the photographs onto albumin paper will be done later.”
“I’m positively amazed by all this.” Valerie tugged her woolen cape more closely around her shoulders. The photographic session continued, and Valerie decided she enjoyed conversing with Emily. Later, they walked to the mess tent to retrieve some hot coffee for Benjamin and Clint. Mud caked the hems of their gowns, but Valerie didn’t mind. She couldn’t imagine any of her friends—Elicia, Cherie, or Violet—ever stepping into an army camp and getting dirty. They’d likely be appalled if they saw her now.
Valerie handed Benjamin the cup of hot coffee. “Thank you kindly.”
“You’re welcome.” She watched him take a sip of the hot liquid, noticing how the January wind had reddened his face. And his eyes—
Suddenly she noticed him studying her. Valerie quickly lowered her gaze.
Unwilling Warrior Page 9
