Shadow of Dawn (20 page)

Miranda turned her head. “No need for that,
I’m perfectly fine.”

Sallie said, with unusual warmth, “Mrs.
Kelly, my husband and I would like for you to stay with us for a
while, until you feel you’re ready to undertake the journey home.”
Catherine saw Martin’s look of surprise. Sallie gave a little
shrug.

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Henderson. I’m so
relieved. You can’t know what it’s like out there for an unattached
woman. What is the world coming to? Why, Richmond’s gone wild! Of
course you live here in this lovely quiet neighborhood, but I can
tell you—”

Catherine listened as the woman talked on and
on, hoping to glean more information that Clayton might be expected
to know. After a few moments Sallie and Martin excused themselves
and left the room. During one of the few pauses, Catherine asked,
“And how is the rest of your family, Cousin Miranda?”

“Well, Pappy’s dead. He was buried a month
ago. Died a day short of his ninety-seventh birthday. Cousin Lula’s
having a baby the last of March and she’s already as big as a
house. Twins actually, we think. Cousin Jason was with Forrest till
he got shot. Delicacy forbids me to mention where, but I can tell
you he’ll never be the same.” She sobbed suddenly into her
handkerchief. “The war has ruined everything—and to think of poor
Cousin Andrew suffering so vilely. I vow I shan’t sleep for the
horror of it!”

“Try not to think about it. Are you from the
same place in Alabama that Andrew is from? It must have been a very
long trip.”

“Frightfully long. We Kellys all come from
the same general vicinity, you know. Although I suppose it’s a
common-enough name.”

“You must have been close to my husband.”

“He hasn’t mentioned me?” Miranda’s blue eyes
were intent.

Catherine hesitated just long enough for the
woman to begin to look offended. “I’m sorry. My husband’s memory
has been somewhat affected by his injuries. Some things are clear
to him, and others are, well, not clear.”

“Well, he can’t have forgotten me! He stayed
with me quite a bit when his mother was ill. He used to say I was
his favorite cousin. He used to call me Randy when he was
little.”

“Oh, he hasn’t forgotten you. If you’ll
excuse me, I’ll go and make sure he’s ready to see you. I’ll have
Jessie prepare your room.”

“Well, thank you, Cousin Catherine.” Miranda
sighed and reached out for her abandoned teacup.

When Catherine reached the upper floor she
saw that the extra room next to Mrs. Shirley had already been
opened and Jessie was busily putting fresh sheets on the bed.
Catherine went into “Andrew’s” room.

Clayton smiled a little. “Well, what sort of
situation do we have?”

She told him everything she had learned.
Clayton listened thoughtfully.

“Catherine, do you think there’s a chance
Bart may have put her up to this? Maybe he’s testing me and she’s
not a cousin at all.”

Catherine frowned. “I don’t think so. Either
she’s real or she’s a consummate actress.”

“She may very well be an actress. Bart knows
a lot of them. However, if I really did have a bad memory I think I
would pretend to know her, just to avoid offending her.”

“Shall I bring her up?”

He nodded, winked at her and put the scarf
over his head.

Catherine did not share his casual acceptance
of the situation. If Andrew’s cousin discovered the man behind the
mask was not Andrew, she would certainly shout it from the rooftop,
and Clayton’s life would be in immediate jeopardy.

“As I told you, my husband has recently been
ill,” she said from behind Miranda, who was puffing up the stairs.
“I must ask that you spend only a few moments with him at
first.”

“Of course.” Andrew’s cousin saved her breath
for climbing, and at the top of the stairs she clutched the railing
and put a hand to her side. “Oh, my, you don’t have a room
downstairs, do you?”

“Only the servants’ rooms are
downstairs.”

“Oh.”

“This is to be your room. Joseph has already
brought your trunk. If you need help unpacking I can get Jessie for
you. Andrew’s room is this way.”

The woman had grown exceedingly quiet.
Catherine opened the door and stepped aside. Miranda went in so
stealthily she might have been approaching the cage of a tiger.

“Oh,” Catherine heard her say. “Oh, my.”

Clayton stood beside the bed, completely clad
in black, which made his tall figure seem all the more towering. He
put out his gloved hand.

“Hello, Cousin Miranda.”

Miranda stared at him, her eyes round, and
let him take her plump and rather limp hand. When he released it,
she immediately took a step backward.

“I’m sorry that I cannot say you’re looking
well, Cousin Miranda. Did Catherine tell you about
my…blindness?”

“Oh, yes. Why, I do believe you’ve grown,
Andrew. What’s the matter with your voice?”

“My throat was damaged. I’m lucky to be
alive.”

“Yes. Well, you could have written us,
Cousin.”

“Please forgive me. I was ill for a long
time. I would have written you eventually. How are the folks at
home? Have you heard from Jason?”

“Yes, you were rather close to him, weren’t
you? I’m afraid Cousin Jason was wounded and is permanently at
home. Don’t you want to hear about Lula?” There was suddenly a sly
look on the pink, artfully powdered face.

Clayton hesitated. “What about Lula?”

“You don’t want Catherine to know. I
shouldn’t have brought it up. But after all, you did promise to
marry her. Well, she got tired of waiting and married Huey Wicker.
She’s having a baby in March.”

“I should have written her. But the moment I
saw Catherine, I forgot every other woman I’d ever known.”

The hooded face turned slightly toward
Catherine, who smiled back at him, then she remembered to look down
since “Andrew” could not see her.

“Funny, I never took you for a romantic,
Andrew Kelly. I suppose war changes a man. Well, I’ve found you and
that’s a load off my mind. I shall write home tonight.” She paused
and looked again as if she might burst into tears. “You poor man! I
keep remembering you as a little boy. You used to run and hide when
you were in trouble, but I see you’ve done your duty. I’m proud of
you, Cousin.”

“Thank you, Cousin Miranda. I’m glad you’ve
come.”

She left the room, again moving very lightly
for a woman of such generous dimensions.

“Lie down,” Catherine said, walking sternly
toward Clayton. She pulled the scarf off his head. “You’ve got to
stop getting up so much.”

“I’m all right, Catherine.”

She felt the pulse in his wrist. “I’ve
learned a lot working at the hospital. Two gunshot wounds are
nothing to play with.”

He said nothing, and she saw that the
afternoon had taken its toll, for he was pale and sweating. She
brushed his black hair back from his forehead and kissed it. “I
want you to rest until time for supper. Understood, Major?”

He smiled. “Yes, General.” He watched from
the bed as she drew the curtains across the window.
“Catherine.”

“Yes?”

“Did I ever tell you you’re the only woman
I’ve ever loved?”

She stared at him wordlessly but he only
smiled again and closed his eyes.

***

Once in her room she had a delayed reaction
to the day’s events and all but collapsed on her bed. Clayton’s
coming home, Bart’s suspicions, and now Cousin Miranda! And on top
of that had come the news that Andrew had been engaged to marry
another woman when he married her. She supposed he hadn’t had the
courage to tell Lula of his change

of heart. She thought again, irresistibly,
Poor Andrew!

Because of that, she thought, Clayton had
assured her she was his only love. Her heart swelled with love for
him. But she was afraid, every bit as afraid as Delia had been at
her wedding when she’d sat on the floor and sobbed that something
might happen to Marcus. Someday Clayton would go away again to
fight another battle, and he might never return. How did a person
live with such fear?

Wasn’t there a verse in the Bible about that?
She made herself get up, reached for her Bible, and searched for
the verse. There it was: “Perfect love casteth out fear.” But what
did that mean?

She wanted to be brave. Clayton had certainly
proved his courage, risking his life for another man. But that
required a different kind of bravery. It wasn’t like sitting at
home and wondering if someone you love is still alive or perhaps
wounded and suffering a fate worse than death. It was enough to
drive a person mad.

Clayton had spoken only once of
Fredericksburg, and somehow she knew he would not speak of it
again. It was one night in the hospital when she had questioned him
about the battle.

He told her, “One of our agents said Burnside
was confused and kept giving unclear directions. Apparently he was
waiting for information from his spies, which he never
received.”

In a moment his meaning had dawned on
Catherine. “You mean— Bart’s letter?”

He nodded. “I deciphered it the night we got
back from Charlottesville. It contained a close estimate of the
number of Lee’s troops as well as the exact layout of the land
surrounding Fredericksburg. I don’t think they could have taken the
town, but our losses could have been much greater.”

“I would probably have handed over the letter
if you hadn’t been with me.” A thought had occurred to her. “You
heard Bart talking to me in the parlor, didn’t you? The next
morning you came to my room and you already knew what I was going
to do.”

“Yes. You and Bart were sitting at the same
place where he and his merry band of men weave their tangled
webs.”

“He’s got to be stopped!”

“He will be, as soon as I find out where he’s
getting his information.”

They had fallen silent, and then Clayton had
said, softly, “Catherine, you should have seen them. The Yankees
were cut down like grass before a scythe, and still they kept
coming. We all had to admire their courage. That night it was below
freezing, and the Yankee wounded lay out on the field. I had
already been taken to a house nearby but I heard about it. Men
actually froze to the ground in their own blood.

“There was a man, a young Confederate
sergeant, who couldn’t stand to hear their moaning and crying. He
received permission to try to help them, though he was told no one
could guarantee his safety. He went among them all night long,
taking them water. His name is Kirkland. He deserves a medal. He
deserves…a crown in heaven.”

Again he grew quiet; when he spoke again his
voice was so low she could barely hear him. “Why didn’t he stop it?
Why didn’t Burnside stop the attack when he saw how futile it
was?”

“I read in the newspaper that Mr. Lincoln
wanted a victory, at any cost.”

“But it was Burnside’s decision. I’d have
resigned before I ordered my men to walk into a rain of bullets
with no hope of advancing. I tell you there was no way they could
have taken Fredericksburg. Not that day.”

Catherine had put her hand over his, but his
gaze was far away, and it grew angry and bitter. “But they did
destroy it. Some of them got bored and restless the day before the
battle and vandalized the town. They tore up people’s houses,
dragged furniture and heirlooms out into the street and smashed
them. Some of them even went into a…I don’t know…a saloon or
something, and came out wearing women’s clothes! The next morning
when we looked down from the hill and saw what they had done…

“It’s no longer an honorable fight,
Catherine. It’s not just about principles anymore, if it ever was.
I’ve never hated as much as I did at that moment, and all the men
with me felt the same way. God help us all.”

He had said no more. Catherine had gone home
that night with a nightmarish picture in her mind that could never
be erased. She had caught him in a weak moment; probably he had
never meant to tell her any of it. Indeed, the next day he had
apologized for telling her that much.

She became aware of a tapping sound and
realized that someone was at her door. When she opened it, her
uncle stood there, trying to smile through the lines of worry on
his face.

“May I speak with you privately for a moment,
Catherine?”

“Of course, Uncle Martin. Come in.”

“You know that Sallie has invited this
relative of Andrew’s to stay indefinitely.”

“Yes. I’m sorry about the inconvenience,
Uncle Martin. I’m sure Andrew can pay for the extra—”

“Oh, it isn’t that, though things are getting
rather bad, prices going up and what not. It’s…well, are you
absolutely certain, Catherine, that this man calling himself Andrew
Kelly is really your husband?”

Catherine steeled herself. She reminded
herself that Clayton’s life might depend on her answer.