Authors: Harrigans Bride
“Yes, well,” Thomas said, clearing his throat and trying not to look as abashed as he was. This penchant complete strangers had to keep commenting on the circumstances of his marriage never ceased to amaze him. “If you’ll direct me, then?”
The woman launched herself from behind the desk, still beaming. “Just follow me, Captain Harrigan. Follow me!”
Thomas mentally stepped over the ashes of his hopes to remain anonymous and followed the hotel woman and her torch upstairs. His visit to Falmouth would probably be in the town’s newspaper tomorrow—or there would be a notation on the dining room blackboard at the very least.
“I understand you are a Maryland boy,” the woman said as they climbed the stairs.
“I…yes,” he said, deciding to agree. Regardless of Abiah’s teasing, the proprietress hadn’t noted his Boston accent or that he was in a Massachusetts regiment—and he certainly didn’t want to have to explain it.
“I have relatives on the Eastern Shore myself—well, actually they are my late husband’s kin. A beautiful place, don’t you think?”
“Indeed,” he said.
The place smelled like a school, with chalk and india ink all mixed in with the cabbage, he decided as he walked with her down the second-floor hallway. The room vacated by the matrons Morse and January was at the end of the hall. The woman knocked lightly—in case Abiah had returned and had somehow sneaked by her, Thomas supposed. After a moment she unlocked the door and led the way inside, lighting a lamp on the rickety dresser with a great flourish. Thomas only half heard what she said—something about the room being her best.
“Yes, it will do very nicely indeed,” he responded—appropriately, he hoped.
The woman smiled broadly. “I’ll be on my way then, Captain.”
“Excuse me, Mrs…”
“Post,” she said, still smiling.
“Mrs. Post, if anyone comes looking for me, would you be able in good conscience to say you haven’t seen me?”
“Oh,
that
goes without saying, Captain,” she assured him. “I shall keep your presence here very dark indeed. While I’m at it, shall I let you surprise dear Mrs. Harrigan with your arrival?”
“Ah…yes,” he decided.
Happy now, the woman finally left him in peace. He stood in the middle of the room, wondering what to do. He couldn’t stay here long. If Abiah didn’t come soon, he’d have to leave without seeing her—that is, if Mrs. Post would let him.
The room was cold. There was a fireplace with a coal grate, but no coal. He doubted if there was any coal in the entire town.
The lamp began to smoke, and he adjusted the wick. Then he wandered aimlessly around the room, sidestepping the one straight chair. It, too, had seen better days. The upholstery on the seat was faded and threadbare. There were no brushes or personal items on the dresser. In fact, the room might as well have been unoccupied for all the evidence he could see of Abiah’s having been here.
He gave a quiet sigh. As he recalled, Abiah didn’t have very many personal items now to display, and it occurred to him that, as her husband, he needed to do something about that.
He looked around the shabby room again. He still didn’t understand her being here. The only thing he was certain about was how much he wanted to see her.
He took a deep breath. He was used to living in what amounted to the out-of-doors, and in spite of the
coldness of the room, he was feeling closed in. He was about to try to open the window when he heard someone outside in the hall. The doorknob rattled briefly, and the door opened.
“Abby?” he said, crossing the room to meet her. “Abby, I—” He stopped dead, completely disbelieving. “My God, what are you doing here?”
Elizabeth Channing smiled her very best smile. “Obviously, Thomas, I’m here to see you.”
“Where is Abiah? Did she come with you?”
“Of course she didn’t come with me, silly.”
“Elizabeth, where is Abiah?”
“How should I know?”
“The woman downstairs told me that my wife was here.”
Elizabeth smiled the smile he had once thought relentlessly appealing, the coy, mischievous one that so often preceded one of her carefully doled out favors. A kiss. A hand on her basque or her knee.
“You have actually told people here that
you
are Mrs. Harrigan?” he asked, still incredulous and still trying to understand.
“What if I did? I had to protect my reputation.”
He didn’t say anything and her smile abruptly faded.
“How could you do it, Thomas? How could you marry someone else?”
“How? Elizabeth, you sent me a letter. You broke the engagement.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Thomas! I didn’t expect you to
believe
it. Cordelia Major’s fiancé certainly
didn’t believe her when she wrote the same to him.
He
came immediately to her side just to change her mind—”
“Elizabeth, this country is at war! You do remember that?”
“Cordelia’s fiancé didn’t find the war a particular obstacle.”
“Cordelia’s fiancé is an errand boy for some Washington political appointee at the War Department. He’s not on the front lines. Believe me, the generals out here take a dim view of men leaving the ranks to go court some woman—particularly when a battle is about to start. Now tell me. Where is Abiah?”
“Thomas, you are very tiresome—and I am not
some
woman.”
“Is she all right? I haven’t heard anything.”
“Have you not? You’d think she’d make more of an effort to write to
you,
after all. She finds the time to write to a Major John Miller, I believe. And you, of course, have been such a faithful correspondent.”
Once again, words completely failed him.
“You look so perplexed, Thomas. It’s all very simple. I love you.”
He laughed, in spite of his growing bewilderment. “My dear Elizabeth, if you loved me so much, you would never,
ever
have written a letter like that.”
“I didn’t think you would misunderstand!”
He could only look at her, amazed that she was entirely serious. And he finally voiced the thing he had known all along. “If you had loved me, you would
never have insisted that we keep the engagement secret.”
“That was my father’s doing.
He
is the one who insisted.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t know if you were…”
“Were what?” he persisted.
She gave a sharp sigh. “Financially able to support me in the way I am accustomed to living.”
“You already knew I couldn’t. You
said
you didn’t mind.”
“My father minded—and he thought some attempt should be made to convince the judge that you should receive your inheritance.”
“I would love to have been a fly on the wall for
that.
Did he ask you to break it off?”
She came closer and laid her hand on his arm. “No, Thomas.”
He didn’t believe her, and he immediately pulled away.
“Thomas, there’s no reason why we couldn’t live in my father’s house.”
“No reason?” he asked incredulously.
“Do you think I would be here if I didn’t love you?”
“It’s a little late in the day, don’t you think?”
She was taking off her jacket. She laid it over the back of the chair and began unbuttoning her basque.
“Elizabeth—”
“I love you, Thomas. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it.”
She held the basque aside. She was more beautiful than he remembered. His eyes went to the soft swell of her breasts above her chemise. He could just see her nipples through the eyelet lace.
She stepped closer. “I’m not wearing corsets, Thomas—”
“Elizabeth, I am married,” he said with his last ounce of control.
“It’s not a
real
marriage. Everybody says that.”
“Do they?”
“Yes! You thought she was dying and you are an honorable man. You wanted her to think her reputation was saved. I understand what you did, Thomas, and I forgive you.”
“I have no wish to be forgiven.”
She reached for him. “Thomas, my father can help you.”
“I don’t need help, Elizabeth.” He meant to take her by the shoulders so that he could step away from her, but she saw it as a capitulation, and she was clinging to him then, her arms sliding around his neck, her mouth pressing fervent little kisses against his cheek, his chin.
“Elizabeth, for God’s sake—”
He couldn’t do this—
wouldn’t
do this.
“Elizabeth, don’t…” he said, still trying to loosen her grip on him. But he didn’t mean it and she knew it. The scent of her, the feel of her ripped through him. His mouth came down hard on hers and his hand slid to her breast.
“Cap,” someone said from the doorway.
He stiffened and thrust Elizabeth away from him. She gave a soft cry and grabbed up her jacket and held it in front of her. The door had been left ajar, and La Broie stood there. La Broie and Bender.
Thomas didn’t say anything. He didn’t owe either of them an explanation. The only person he would have to explain this to was Abiah.
Abiah.
“We got to go, Cap,” his sergeant said finally, carefully ignoring Elizabeth, who stood huddled with her back to him. “The provost marshal and a detail of his men are out, sir. They’re going door-to-door, checking passes. We ain’t got much time.”
“Very well,” he said, trying to calm his breathing. “Wait for me downstairs.”
La Broie hesitated. He glanced at Elizabeth, but he didn’t say anything. Bender kept shifting self-consciously from one foot to the other.
“Downstairs, Sergeant,” Thomas said again. Regardless of how it looked, he didn’t need a chaperon.
Elizabeth reached for him the minute the door closed. “Thomas—”
“What have you told Abiah?” he asked, thrusting her hands aside. Abiah’s sudden refusal to write to him made sense suddenly.
“Nothing—”
“You’re a liar, Elizabeth. I just got a letter from my mother chastising me for not writing to her or Abiah. Yet
you
just called me a ‘faithful correspondent. ’ How is it you know I’m sending letters home and my mother doesn’t?”
She looked at him, but she didn’t say anything.
“Does Abiah know about us?”
“Thomas—”
“Answer me, damn it!”
“Well, what if she does! It seems very strange to me that you hadn’t even told her who I am.”
“Abiah knows I was engaged. And she knows the engagement was broken. Beyond that—”
“Beyond that, I think you still have your hopes of marrying
me.
And I think she understands you only did it because you expected her to die.”
He gave a quiet sigh and shook his head. Perhaps Abiah did believe that. Perhaps it had even been true—at first. But he hadn’t been pining for Elizabeth Channing.
“Where does your father think you are?” he asked abruptly.
“In Washington—with Cordelia.”
“Then I suggest you get yourself there as fast as you can.”
“No, Thomas, I can wait here for you. I’ll stay right here until you can come back—”
“No!” he said. “I have no intention of coming here again.”
“Thomas, please! What will people say?”
“What people, Elizabeth? No one knew we were engaged…oh, I see. They did know. Then it must be very awkward for you now—having Cordelia and her friends think I forgot about you so easily and married somebody else. But that problem is yours, not mine. Whether it was with Cordelia cheering you on or not,
you wrote the letter.
You.
My marriage may not be real to you, but I can assure you, it is real to me.”
He left her still clutching her jacket, and he heard her call him once after he’d stepped into the hall. La Broie and Bender stood waiting at the foot of the stairs, neither of them quite meeting his eye.
“Captain Harrigan! Oh, Captain Harrigan!” Mrs. Post called, leaning across her desk as he walked briskly by. “Did I say I should be going to Maryland soon…?”
He didn’t stop, and his mind was in such turmoil, he barely remembered the trek back through the woods to the railroad cut. The pickets were on the alert now, and it took a long while for an opportunity to slip back into camp to present itself. La Broie finally had to move to a position above them and create a diversion in order for Thomas and Bender to get across.
Even so, La Broie arrived in camp only minutes after Thomas did. The sergeant busied himself immediately, his silence every bit as eloquent as when he’d chastised the indifferent mail carrier for dallying with the laundresses. Thomas took it as long as he could.
“La Broie,” he said finally. “If you’ve got something to say, damn you, say it.”
“I am sorry to be so wrong about a man,” he replied without hesitation. “And that’s the God’s truth. Sir,” he added, the reproach heavy in his voice.
“This is none of your damn business.”
“No, sir. It ain’t. Is that all, sir? I got that new lieutenant wandering around here someplace.”
“Fine. Dismissed,” Thomas said—but he didn’t quite catch whatever else La Broie felt he needed to add.
“Sergeant La Broie! What did you say?”
La Broie turned to look at him, his face unreadable. “I said,
sir,
better you had left that little girl sick to death in that freezing house.”
A
biah walked carefully past the marble-topped table in the foyer. The mail had arrived, each letter carefully placed on a silver tray for the judge’s perusal. She could read the addresses clearly. None of them was in Thomas’s handwriting. None of them was for her.
Given the chance, she had no doubt that she would recognize anything written in his hand quite easily now. She was ashamed of how many times she had reread his letter to Elizabeth Channing. She couldn’t seem to help herself, and she couldn’t seem to part with it—when she should have shredded it and tossed it in the nearest fire.
She knew exactly why she hadn’t. Because Thomas himself had written it. And even if it was meant for another person, it was the only thing of his she had. She had no hope of receiving word from him. None. She took some comfort from the fact that she wasn’t dwelling on his lack of correspondence. Captain Appleby, the British sea captain who had brought the copies of
The Woman In White
from England, had
very graciously agreed to hand deliver Abiah’s letter to Miss Gwen the next time he shipped supplies to New Bern. Abiah hoped that some contact with Miss Gwen would make her feel less alone in the world. Gertie’s presence, lively though it was, hadn’t remedied that awful, unprotected feeling of having no family to rely upon.
Which brought her to the
other
reason she’d come downstairs. The judge had returned from his sudden trip to Washington. It was amazing to Abiah the effect the man’s comings and goings had on the Winthrop household. It was almost pleasant when he was away. Mrs. Harrigan hummed as she went about her housekeeping duties. Bonnie and the rest of the servants actually felt at ease enough to laugh out loud from time to time. Abiah herself didn’t have that feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach anticipating having another of their one-sided conversations. She had come to understand Thomas’s reluctance to be here. It wasn’t that the judge was violent or verbally abusive. It was that he was never, ever satisfied. He was a master at misinterpreting intentions and keeping everyone perpetually off balance and in the wrong. She had completely given up trying to please him.
First, he perceived her staying in her room, even before she felt well enough to be up and about, as overt rudeness on her part. It was her Rebel arrogance and her disdain for the good people of Maryland—what
must
they think of the Winthrops if she insisted on behaving so? When Abiah sought to make some small effort to appease him by sitting quietly in the
gallery and listening to the musical performers, she was then embarrassing him by provoking untoward comment and attention among the convalescent soldiers who attended. When she withdrew from that, she was deliberately trying to malign him in the eyes of his honored guests by making it seem as if
he
had refused her a simple pleasure. And while she might have liked to have devised all those ways to plague him, she had only just recently acquired strength and energy enough to do it—and
that
she had to save for their next encounter.
But today it was Gertie’s turn. In the midst of the household preparations for yet another salon, he had commanded that Gertie bring herself to the library. Immediately. Gertie had gone along peacefully enough, but she was nothing if not irrepressible, and she did
not
suffer fools gladly. Abiah had no doubt that she would bite the hand that fed them—and bite it hard.
Abiah’s second reason for coming down to the foyer had been to see if the meeting in the library was still in session. It was, and there was nothing for her to do but return upstairs. She left the door to her room ajar, anxiously hoping—praying—that she wouldn’t hear any commotion from behind the library doors. She kept getting up and walking into the hallway to look over the gallery banister.
The third time she went, she caught a glimpse of Elizabeth Channing in the foyer, beautiful as always, walking into the drawing room with Mrs. Harrigan and chatting happily about her own recent jaunt to Washington.
As far as Abiah knew this was the first time Elizabeth had been to the house since that rainy afternoon she’d made her so-called “visitation to the sick.” Elizabeth certainly hadn’t come to deliver any more baskets or books with surreptitious letters in them. Of course, tonight was the occasion of a particularly important salon. It would last the entire weekend, and according to Bonnie, half of Washington would make the ferry ride across Chesapeake Bay to be here.
The fourth time Abiah went to check on the meeting in the library, she saw Bonnie about to disappear down the back stairs.
“Wait,” Abiah called after her as loudly as she dared. “Bonnie?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Is the judge still talking to Gertie?”
“No, ma’am. I think Gertie left.”
Abiah frowned. “Left? For where?”
“Wherever the judge said to go, I guess.”
Abiah stood there. “Bonnie…”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. That’s all I know. Can I go see what Cook wants with me? She gets awful out of sorts if she has to wait.”
“Yes, of course.”
Abiah went back to her room, still frowning. Where could Gertie possibly go? Or more importantly, why would she leave without saying anything?
Abiah walked to the window and looked out. She immediately saw Gertie rapidly retreating down the gravel drive toward the main road. Abiah rapped
sharply on the windowpane, but Gertie didn’t hear her, so she grabbed up her shawl and hurried down the back stairs, nearly colliding with one of the kitchen maids on the bottom landing.
“So sorry,” Abiah said, squeezing by her. She was already winded from the sudden exertion, but she kept going, through the kitchen and out the back door.
“Oh, ma’am, do take care,” the girl called after her. “It’s going to rain!”
There was, indeed, a thunderstorm coming. The sun was still shining in fits and starts, but there was a dark cloud to the west and the wind had picked up. Abiah grabbed up her skirts and hurried on, noting as she went that spring was almost here. The lawn was green now and the trees were beginning to bud. The roof of the Channing mansion was barely visible. How much better she would feel when she could look out the window and
not
see the place where Elizabeth Channing lived.
Abiah forced her thoughts back to the matter at hand.
“Gertie!” she called. “Gertie…!” Unless she was very mistaken, Gertie was deliberately ignoring her.
“Wait!” Abiah yelled, as loudly as she could. “Wait!”
This time Gertie stopped, but she didn’t turn around. She stood ramrod straight in the middle of the gravel drive, waiting for Abiah to catch up with her. Even then, she didn’t turn around. Abiah had to move in front of her to see her face.
“Where are you going?” she asked. “Didn’t you hear me?”
Gertie didn’t answer and wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“All right, tell me,” Abiah said. “What did the judge do?”
“The judge didn’t do anything. I got to go. I got to take care of something. I don’t know how long I’ll be, so you can just go back to the house and mind your own business.”
“No, thank you,” Abiah said. “I think I’ll go along with you.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Then tell me what happened—”
“There ain’t nothing to tell,” Gertie said, walking again.
Abiah reached out and grabbed her by the arm, because she was too winded to keep running after her. She didn’t even see the blow coming. Gertie whirled around and slapped her—hard.
Stunned, Abiah could only stare at her, her hand pressed to her cheek, her eyes watering.
“Nobody tells me what to do,” Gertie said. “Nobody!”
Abiah had had many,
many
knockdown altercations with Guire in her time, and she still remembered how. “All right. If that’s the way you want it.” She returned the slap just as precipitously, making Gertie stagger.
“There’s more where that came from,” Abiah assured her. “If you think you’re walking off from here without so much as a fare-you-well after what we’ve been through together, you are
very
mistaken!”
“Is that so!”
“It is!”
Gertie stepped around her and walked on.
“Gertie, please! Why can’t you tell me?”
“Oh, I can tell you,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s simple. I’d rather have the money.”
“What money? Do you mean you get money if you leave?”
“That’s right!”
“What do you get if you stay?” Abiah called after her, again trying to keep up.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean I think there’s more to this leaving business than you’re saying. What did the judge threaten you with?”
“He didn’t—”
“He did! I know you—and I know him. You wouldn’t go without saying a word if he hadn’t done something.”
Gertie stopped walking. They both stood there, staring at each other. In the distance, beyond a row of budding, red maple trees, an impressive line of buggies and carriages rolled along the main road toward the front entrance of the Winthrop house. The ferry from Washington must have arrived early. The guests for the salon were already here.
The sun slid behind a dark cloud. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Tell me,” Abiah said.
Gertie stubbornly shook her head.
“Tell me!”
“No!”
“Then I’ll go ask the judge—”
“No, you won’t. I’m not telling you anything! And I’m not letting
him
tell you, either! I’m going!” Gertie said. She wiped furtively at her eyes and started walking again.
“Maybe I already know,” Abiah called after her.
“You don’t know anything. What could somebody like you know about the way life really is? You’re too damn delicate minded.”
“I’m not as delicate minded as you think. I know about you. I know about your being with soldiers,” Abiah said. “For money.”
Gertie stopped walking.
“I heard things when I was so sick,” Abiah continued. “Most of it’s kind of vague, but I know what you
used
to be. I know why Zachariah Wilson thought he could just take you and you’d let him. And I remember what Sergeant La Broie said.”
“What? You heard him come right out and say I was a army whore?”
“No,”
Abiah said pointedly. “I don’t know where it was or when—I don’t think he was even talking to me. But he said you were a good girl. And then, after the wedding, he asked me to take care of you—”
“He never!”
“He did! I asked him to take care of Thomas, and he said for me to look out for ‘our Gertie.’”
“What did you have to go and tell me
that
for?” Gertie said, crying openly now.
“Well, it’s the truth—”
“You don’t understand what it’s like! Letting all those men use me and never feeling nothing. That’s how it was—until Pete. It wasn’t that way with him, and now I…You want to hear something funny? I want to
marry
him—after what I been. Ain’t that a joke? I want to live with him on a piece of land somewhere. I want to go to sleep with him right by me and wake up the same way. And it can’t ever be. Not ever. I don’t want to know he was thinking about me, you hear?”
“Gertie, I can’t keep my word to Sergeant La Broie if you run off!”
“I ain’t asking you for nothing! I ain’t making no excuses for what I am! If I’m ashamed of it, it’s my business!”
“Gertie—”
“I’m going,” she said, mouth trembling. “I’ve got my bribe, and I’m going. And you can’t keep me here now.” She turned abruptly and began to walk away.
The rain began to fall. Abiah stood there, watching her go, not knowing what to do.
But there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t hang on to people when they wanted to leave, and she’d better get used to that. She took a deep breath and tried not to cry.
The guests were still arriving for the salon. When Gertie had nearly reached the road, a soldier passing along the line of trees suddenly spurred his horse and galloped across the bowling green, intercepting her on the gravel drive. Abiah turned away. She had no wish to witness her friend’s easy fall back into her old life,
and there was no alternative but to return to the house. Unlike Gertie, she had no money with which to effect an escape.
She walked slowly, pacing herself. The emotional confrontation had taken more out of her than she’d realized. But the rain came down harder, and she tried to hurry. She didn’t hear the horse and rider until they were almost abreast of her.
She looked around sharply—and directly into Thomas Harrigan’s eyes. He reined in the horse. He was mud-splattered and wet and sorely in need of a good barbering. And he was angry.
“Give me your hand,” he said, holding his out to her. He kicked his stirrup free. “Put your foot in the stirrup!”
“Thomas, what—?” she began.
“Give me your hand, damn it! I didn’t come all this way to see you have a relapse.”
She hesitated, then did as he asked—ordered—with a great deal of difficulty. She gave a soft cry when he none too gently hauled her up and set her on the saddle in front of him. The horse began to prance at the added weight. Thomas had to work hard to control the animal, then he unbuttoned his coat and pulled her closer to him, so that she had at least some protection from the rain. She was in real danger of falling, but she couldn’t shift her position without upsetting the horse even more. Thomas’s arms went around her to keep her steady, his one hand almost but not quite encircling her breast.
“Do you want to tell me what in the name of God
you’re doing out here in the rain?” he asked as the horse began a nervous sideways dance toward the house.
“No,” she said.
“I suggest you do.”
She tried to see him over her shoulder. “All right. I was brawling with Gertie,” she said evenly.
“Yes, I saw that, and I can only suppose that the both of you have lost your minds. Are you trying to have a setback? Is that it?”
“No, of course not—I was trying to keep Gertie from leaving.”
“She says you don’t need her now. She thinks her going is for the best.”
“I think it’s not,” Abiah said.
“You wouldn’t be facing the kind of remarks she will if she stays.”