Shadow of Dawn (2 page)

The masked head turned slightly in her
direction. “I do hope there’ll be no inconvenience. Mrs. Shirley
must be available at all times. Is there a room for her?”

The whispery voice tore at Catherine’s heart.
What had happened to him? Andrew had been so strong, tawny-haired,
blue-eyed, quick to express his opinion, impulsive. He was now, she
thought as she stared at the black scarf that covered even his
throat, only a shadow of himself. Before she could answer, Martin
came to stand beside her.

“Of course,” he said, with somewhat forced
cordiality. “Of course she must stay. There’s plenty of room.
Ephraim, tell Jessie to open another bedroom.”

Ephraim disappeared, going out the second
doorway at the end of the room. A movement from the long stairway
caught everyone’s gaze. Martin’s wife, Sallie, turned the sharp
curve near the top and hurried gracefully down the stairs, saying
breathlessly, “Oh, Martin, you’re back at last. I’ve been writing
letters and lost track of the time.”

She reached the small landing near the bottom
of the stairway, looked up from the steps, saw Andrew, and froze.
Her smile of welcome cracked, she said “Oh” in a baffled tone, and
fainted. Martin saw it coming, leaped forward to catch her before
she hit the floor, and in the flurry that followed, Andrew and Mrs.
Shirley disappeared up the stairs. Catherine ran for the smelling
salts, which her uncle waved under his wife’s nose as she lay
limply upon the settee in the hall.

“Oh,” Sallie said again, raising her head a
little and automatically pushing away the smelling salts. “What was
it? Martin, who was that man? I thought we were being robbed!”

“It’s Andrew,” Martin said gravely. “Of
course you knew he’d been wounded. We didn’t know how seriously. I
expect his nurse will let us know more as soon as Andrew is
settled.”

“But, why…he must be terribly disfigured.”
Sallie sat up, her bright gaze falling on Catherine. “How dreadful
for you, dear. It must be quite a shock.”

Catherine turned away as Martin helped Sallie
up and assisted her into the parlor. She heard the tinkle of
glasses and knew a stout dosage of brandy was being poured. By now
Martin—indeed all of them— knew how to handle Sallie’s fainting
spells. Whether due to her excitable nature or the too-tight corset
that cinched her waist to a mere handbreadth, they were a frequent
occurrence.

Catherine walked across the hall into the
second parlor, the formal room where their more lavish parties were
held, though there had been none of those for a long time. While
many of their neighbors held a party or reception at least once a
week, Martin frugally chose not to entertain much. Catherine sat
down, realizing dimly that her knees were weak and she was still
too stunned to think straight.

Was Andrew going to get better? Why hadn’t
the doctor prepared them? Why hadn’t he detailed Andrew’s
injuries?

She remembered her relief at discovering he
was alive. The surgeon had written: “Captain Kelly remained
unconscious for a long period of time. Though we were aware of his
identity, he himself remained confused, and for this reason we were
reluctant to write concerning his condition, fearing that the
appearance of family members would lead to more confusion and
despondency. It is apparent that he has recovered his mental
faculties and will require a period of recuperation. His desire is
to return to his home. Will telegraph arrival time at a later
date.”

Certainly there was nothing in the letter to
imply his condition was so critical, though Martin had tried to
warn her that such might be the case. There had been no mention of
blindness and possible disfigurement. They had been trying to spare
her feelings, she supposed, but seeing him had been a far greater
shock than any written description could have been.

She could only think, Poor Andrew. And there
was a vague idea, nipping away at her consciousness, that
her
life would never be the same.

“Mrs. Kelly.”

The voice came from the doorway. Catherine
jumped to her feet, startled. Mrs. Shirley stared back at her. She
had removed her bonnet, revealing straight black hair threaded with
barely noticeable strands of gray and rolled into a knot at the
base of her skull. “May I speak with you?”

“Please—of course. I’ve been waiting for
you.”

“My accommodations are more than adequate. I
must thank you.”

“I…oh, certainly. Mrs. Shirley, will you tell
me about my husband?”

The nurse strode purposefully into the room,
standing very straight with her hands at her sides. She was tall
for a woman, an inch or two taller even than Catherine, who was
above average in height. “You will find him much changed, madam.
You must try not to mind too much.”

“Why—” Catherine searched for words. “Why
does he cover his head? Is it because of his eyes?”

A moment of silence passed as Mrs. Shirley
gave her a long, measuring look. “Your husband conceals his face
out of concern for others, Mrs. Kelly. A bursting shell destroyed
his sight. However, the brush caught fire where he lay wounded. He
is not…recognizable.”

Catherine could not conceal her horror. She
turned quickly away, clutching the curtain at the window. After a
moment she said, “Is he not healed? Is that why you tend to
him?”

Again Mrs. Shirley paused before answering,
but this time there seemed to be a hint of sympathy in her voice.
“Captain Kelly’s wounds are fresh in his mind, madam. They may ever
be so. He trusts me. I am a good nurse. He will of course take
meals in his room and I will assist him. He does not have good use
of his hands. He requires assistance to dress. His burns are mostly
healed, but there is always a chance for infection.”

Catherine swallowed and faced Mrs. Shirley
again. “How long do you think it will be necessary for you to
stay?”

A sparse black eyebrow went up. “That is
difficult to say, madam. He is dependent on me. If he wants me to
stay for the remainder of his life, considering my own continued
good health, I will do so.”

“I see.”

“And there is something else. His memory has
been somewhat affected.”

“Do you mean…he doesn’t remember me?”

“He remembers you and most of the important
people in his life, but there are details, things he has forgotten.
He hopes you will understand.”

Tears came to Catherine’s eyes. “But why
weren’t we told, Mrs. Shirley? I could have been with my husband
all this time. I don’t understand this long delay.”

“There was nothing you could have done,” the
nurse said quietly. “And when he became aware of who he was and
what had happened to him, he did not wish you to see him.”

“I want to help him,” Catherine said, her
hands tightly clasped in front of her. “But I don’t know how. I
hardly know what to say to him. I don’t want to hurt his pride. You
probably know him better than I do, by now. Will you help me…to
help him?”

“Of course, madam. At this time he desires
nothing more than privacy. He must become accustomed to this thing
that has happened to him. You must not feel neglected if he stays
in his room a great deal of the time. I believe that eventually he
may be able to return to a normal life.”

“What’s this?” Martin and Sallie entered the
room. Mrs. Shirley’s head turned on her shoulders, though the rest
of her body remained motionless.

“Did I hear you say Andrew is to be kept in
his room?” Martin asked, releasing Sallie’s hand as she took a seat
on the sofa.

“I said that he prefers to stay in his room
and will be taking all his meals there. Of course he wants no one
present when he removes his head covering.”

“But why does he wear that thing?” Sallie
asked, in her lilting, little-girl voice—which for some reason
always irritated Catherine.

Mrs. Shirley continued looking at Martin.
“Captain Kelly has been burned. I’ve explained everything to Mrs.
Kelly.”

Sallie gasped.

“I suspected as much,” Martin said. “Of
course we’ll do everything we can to make him comfortable. As you
probably know, Mrs. Kelly is my niece and has made her home here
since the death of her parents several years ago.”

Mrs. Shirley inclined her head.

“And as to your, er, payment—”

“Captain Kelly provides adequate compensation
for my services, Mr. Henderson. You needn’t concern yourself.”

“Ah. Of course.”

“If you will excuse me.” Mrs. Shirley did not
wait for permission, but with seemingly no effort propelled her
long body from the room.

“You’re all right, my dear?” Martin said
anxiously.

Catherine started to answer but saw he was
looking at his wife. Sallie smiled a little, her eyes downcast, and
nodded.

“Then I shall go to my office. Catherine, I’m
sorry about Andrew. This war…well, none of us knows what will
happen, but as long as I’m able I shall continue to take care of
both of you.”

Catherine stiffened her spine. “Andrew does
have a home in Alabama, Uncle Martin. When he’s better, perhaps it
would be best if we went to live there, though I’m very grateful to
you.”

“Perhaps it would be best,” Sallie said, her
blue eyes round and concerned. “Perhaps he’d prefer to be among his
own people.”

“Well, we’ll see. Now I must be off.” Martin
kissed his wife on the cheek, took his hat from the rack near the
doorway, and left the room.

Sallie glanced at Catherine. “Well, I’m sure
you’ve thought of this, but there’s always the possibility of an
annulment.”

C
atherine stared.
“Annulment?”

Sallie lowered her eyes and adjusted the
sleeve of her gown. “Why, yes. Do you know what your life is going
to be like? Andrew is blind. You’re only nineteen. Why, that’s only
three years younger than I am, and I know I wouldn’t want to spend
the rest of my life with a man who’s completely helpless, even if
there is someone else to take care of him.

“And what if Mrs. Shirley leaves and it’s
left up to you? What if the war comes here and we all lose
everything? How is Andrew going to support you?”

Catherine sat down abruptly. “Sallie, Andrew
is my husband. I promised—”

“Yes, I know all about marriage vows, dear.
But if you get an annulment, you’d be free to marry again.” Sallie
raised a delicate brow. “You were only together for one day before
he left, and you were sick. Of course it’s none of my business, but
it seems that—”

“Yes, you’re quite right. That is, about it
being none of your business. Excuse me, please. I must go see my
husband.”

She got to her feet again, making a supreme
effort to control her temper. How dared Sallie say such things? Of
course she was not going to leave her husband. She would not listen
to such talk. Only…only it seemed that Sallie’s suggestion, for
just a moment, had lifted an intolerable burden…had given her a
tantalizing glimpse of a certain freedom that would never be hers
again.

Catherine felt ashamed. How could she be
thinking of herself after what had happened to Andrew? How lonely
and despondent he must have been all these months!

She steeled herself as she went up the long
staircase, her hand sliding along the polished wooden banister.
This situation would take some getting used to. What would she say
to him? She gathered from what Mrs. Shirley had told her that he
did not expect her to share his room, and she felt guiltily
relieved.

The large area at the top of the stairs had
been made into a sitting room. A central window looked down upon
the street in front of the house. On either side of the sitting
room, railed hallways ran parallel to each other, with three
bedrooms on each side. One belonged to Martin and Sallie, one to
Sallie’s brother, Bart Ingram, one to herself, and now on the
opposite side, one each to Andrew and Mrs. Shirley. Not sure

which bedroom Andrew had been given, since
she had expected him to use hers, she paused in the sitting room
and listened.

Someone said at her side, “Your husband is
waiting to speak with you, madam.”

Catherine’s eyes, a light gray-green now in
the dimness, widened as she turned around. Mrs. Shirley was also
going to take some getting used to.

“He’s in that room,” the nurse said, with a
quick gesture. “My room is next to his.”

“Thank you,” Catherine said, trying to appear
unruffled.

Mrs. Shirley stood and watched as Catherine
moved down the hallway and knocked on the door, then she turned and
went down the stairs. Not even her skirts rustled.

“Come in,” came a low voice from within.

Catherine turned the knob and stepped into
the room. The shades had been pulled and the lighting was dim.
Apparently all his clothes had been put away, for the empty bags
sat near the armoire. The covers on the massive four-poster bed
were folded back, as though he were about to take a nap.

Her husband stood near the doorway. She
looked up at him and realized she would never even be able to see
his eyes—though, of course, she did not know if he still had eyes.
Again she was touched by horror and fought a feeling of
queasiness.