The Bride Found

by Piper Davenport

  He removed his hat. “I’m fine.”

  “Why didn’t you come into the dining room?”

  He shifted from one foot to the other.

  “What?”

  Clayton rolled the rim of his hat. “Emma, I can’t stay. I need to leave.”

  “Why? Where are you going? Wait, let’s go into the parlor.” She led him out of the foyer and into the parlor. “What’s wrong?”

  He laid his palm on her cheek. “I can’t discuss it.”

  “You’re so monosyllabic today. Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

  He took a deep breath. “I was given word that a friend was killed at Bristoe Station.”

  “Oh, Clayton, I’m sorry. Were you close?”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I need to leave now.”

  “Will you be back in time for the ball?”

  Clayton shrugged. “I hope so.”

  “Well, all right then. Have a safe trip.” She turned to walk out of the room.

  “Emma.” Clayton took her arm and turned her.

  “What? If you need to go, you need to go.”

  “I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  Emma sighed. “I get that you have a really important job and all, but there must be something you can share with me.” He leaned down and kissed her. Emma wove her hands around his neck and melted into him. He broke the kiss, but kept her in his arms. “Clayton, you’re going to have to open up to me at some point. Kissing isn’t going to get you far for long.”

  Clayton chuckled. “We’ll talk when I get back. I promise.”

  “Have you eaten?” she asked, admittedly trying to stall him.

  “No, but I have no time. I need to get on the road.”

  “Let me grab you something to take with you.” She patted his chest. “A few biscuits at least.”

  Clayton smiled tightly. “All right. I will take a few biscuits.”

  She rushed to the dining room, grabbed a napkin, and wrapped two warm biscuits in it. Sophie raised an eyebrow, but Emma didn’t have time to explain. Clayton was already out on the porch, ready to mount up and leave. She handed him the food.

  He kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

  “Clayton?”

  “Hm?”

  “Wherever it is you’re rushing off to, please be careful.”

  “I will.” He gave her one last kiss and left.

  Emma went back into the dining room and found Sophie and Christine waiting for her. Everyone else had gone on with their day. Sophie patted the chair next to her. “So?”

  Emma sighed and took a seat. “All he said was that a friend was killed at something Bristoe?”

  Sophie nodded. “Oh, right. It’s the sixteenth today. The Battle of Bristoe Station took place on October 14. The Union forces won the battle, but the Confederates destroyed a railroad during their retreat.”

  Emma frowned. “Bristoe happened a couple of days ago?”

  Sophie nodded. “Yes.”

  “Would it be likely that Clayton would have heard this quickly about the death of a friend?”

  Sophie shrugged. “Well, there are telegraphs, and with the railroad, it wouldn’t be impossible to get a message through. What are you thinking?”

  Emma shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m probably just overreacting. Are we going for our ride?”

  Sophie stood. “Yes, we are. Christine, will you join us?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t today. I have to get to the hospital, but I would love to try and ride astride another time.”

  Sophie nodded. “Sounds good. We’ll get you a pair of breeches and take you out next week.”

  * * *

  Clayton knew he had to tell Richard. Timothy and Anthony Johnson had been their closest friends. Almost identical in age, the boys grew up together. Their sisters were close in age, as well, but Rose was sent off to boarding school shortly before the typhoid breakout. Clayton was relieved that she had been spared the disease; despite the fact they lost Lillian. Rose was only ten when Lillian died, and he knew it had been difficult to lose her best friend.

  He arrived at the jail and made his way inside. Everyone was accustomed to seeing him now and he was greeted by name. Richard was surprised to see him. “Good morning, Clayton.”

  “Good morning.”

  Richard set down the Bible he was reading. “What’s amiss?”

  “Timmy was killed.” Clayton removed his hat. “At Bristoe Station.”

  “Goddammit!” he snapped as he ran his hands through his hair.

  “I’m riding out to meet Anthony now,” Clayton said.

  Richard’s head whipped up. “Excuse me?”

  “I got a missive to meet him.”

  Richard shook his head. “Clay, you can’t. Have you forgotten that he fights for the other side? It’s too dangerous.”

  “I have to, Richard. Tim was my closest friend.”

  “Clayton, you need to think. You’ll be riding into enemy territory. You could be captured or killed. You’re in with Lincoln’s War Cabinet, which makes you a prime target. Try to be smart about this.” Richard laid his hand on Clayton’s shoulder. “Tony will understand. You know he will.”

  “I can’t just sit here and do nothing. What about Rose? She’s barely nineteen and has lost her big brother. She’s probably alone and frightened.”

  “This is Rose Johnson we’re talking about. She’ll be fine. There has never been a craftier lady in Virginia. You know that. Tony will help her.”

  Clayton paced the small space. “I just need some time to think right now. I’ll return later.”

  “Don’t do anything rash,” Richard called as Clayton left the jail.

  Clayton mounted his horse and rode. He didn’t have a destination in mind. He just rode. He found himself at the waterfall by the lake. Dismounting, he sat on his favorite rock overlooking the water and his mind wandered to years ago—years when life had been simpler.

  Caught between little girl and little lady, his ten-year-old sister, Lilly, was her brothers’ complete joy. Never without a smile, especially for Richard, she worshiped him. Clayton could understand why--he worshiped Richard as well.

  Clayton had been called home from school to attend his mother’s funeral. He hadn’t been aware that she was sick, and now he would watch her body be lowered into the ground. He arrived home to chaos, his brother unusually stoic and more on edge than he’d ever seen.

  They buried his mother, and then less than two weeks later, his father met the same fate. Now, Lillian lay in bed, fever ravaging her tiny body. Clayton had stayed for their father’s funeral, and now he and Richard were forced to wait for their sister’s. Richard sat vigil at Lillian’s bedside as Clayton paced the tiny room.

  “Dickie,” Lillian rasped.

  “I’m here, little bean.”

  “I am too, love.” Clayton sat on the opposite side of her.

  Lillian held out two ribbons.

  “What’s this, sweet?” Clayton asked.

  “Please keep them and remember me.”

  Clayton didn’t stop the tears as he nodded and took one from her.

  “When you lay me in the box, will you put Lucy in with me?” she asked, referring to the rag doll she was holding. “I don’t want to be by myself.”

  “Lilly,” Richard whispered. “Of course we will. Don’t be afraid.”

  They were well past the hope that she might recover.

  “Clay?”

  “Yes, love, I’m here.” He gently lifted her hand and lay her palm against his cheek.

  “Tell Rosie not to cry for me and that she should stay away until this is done. I would hate for her to get sick.”

  “I will,” Clayton whispered.

  “I’m really cold.”

  Richard gathered her into his arms and held her against his chest. “Is this better?”

  She never said another word.

  Clayton shook himself from his reverie. Once they’d buried thei
r sister, Richard and Clayton sold everything off, freed the slaves that hadn’t already purchased their freedom, and made their way to Harrisburg. Away from Virginia, away from the south, away from the memories. In the midst of making their new life, Clayton found God and Richard found rage—and whiskey.

  Now, faced with fear for his childhood friends, Clayton pulled out the frayed ribbon that he kept with his pocket watch and spent several minutes in prayer before he heard horses approaching. He turned to see Emma riding toward him. She dismounted quickly and rushed to him. “Clay? Are you all right?”

  He watched Jamie and Sophie ride off in the opposite direction and gave Emma a tight smile. “I’m fine.”

  She frowned. “I thought you were leaving.”

  “Emma.” He wasn’t in the mood.

  She smirked. “I warned you this morning that you were going to have to talk to me eventually. Now seems as good a time as any.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Emma crossed her arms. “Did you get everything done that you needed to?”

  “No,” he snapped.

  “Nice try, Clayton, but snapping at me is not going to make me go away.” She walked over to him and stood directly in front of him. “Did something else happen?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “I went to see Richard.”

  “Did he say or do something?” She laid her hand on his arm. “Was he drunk again?”

  He shook his head. “No. He’s sober, which means he’s also thinking straight.”

  Clayton picked up a stone and threw it toward the lake. It made three perfect skips across the water. Emma cocked her head to the side. “Is that why you’re not wherever it was you were going this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  She settled her hands on her hips. “Holy shit, Clayton Madden, trying to get information out of you is like getting blood from a stone.”

  “I can’t talk about it.”

  She let out a quiet snort. “Is it work related?”

  He turned his head away.

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “Damn it, Emma, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Well, too bad.” She grabbed his hand, pulled him over to a flat rock, and forced him to sit down. “What happened?”

  Clayton took a deep breath. He’d never shared anything of a personal nature with a woman. Ever. The only men he’d ever trusted were Christopher and Timothy, and now one of them was dead.

  Emma tipped his chin up. “Hi, it’s me. Standing here. Not leaving.”

  Clayton looked up at her in resigned frustration. “I rode out to the jail to let Richard know about Tim.”

  “Okay. Then what happened?”

  “Richard told me not to meet Anthony.”

  Emma threw her arms up in the air. “Who are Tim and Anthony? Is one of them your friend who died?”

  Clayton nodded. “Yes.”

  “I know you’re doing this on purpose, Clayton, but I won’t be distracted. We can sit here all day and night if you want. I slept really well,” she said, although he didn’t fully believe her.

  “Richard and I grew up with Anthony and Timothy Johnson. We were all around the same age and Timmy was my best friend. He was like another brother.”

  “In Virginia?”

  “Yes. Anthony sent word of Tim’s death and I was going out there to meet up with him.”

  Emma gasped. “Are you insane? Isn’t that Confederate country?”

  “Yes,” he said sheepishly.

  “Clayton, you’re one of Lincoln’s elite. Do you know what they’d do to you if you were captured? I doubt they’d kill you quickly.”

  He stood and started to pace again. “That’s what Richard said.”

  “I can’t believe you’d risk yourself like that!”

  Clayton shrugged. “I didn’t see it as a risk.”

  “How did someone so stupid get to your level?” she snapped.

  Clayton bristled. “Excuse me?”

  She grabbed his arm and punched his chest when he turned toward her. “What the hell gives you the right to do something so reckless? There are people who care about you, and you would leave them to mourn you without looking back?”

  “Emma,” he growled.

  “Screw you, Clayton. All this time, I thought maybe we were getting closer. Sorry to have wasted your time.” She stomped away.

  “Emma, stop. This has nothing to do with you.”

  She turned back to him, beyond livid. “It has everything to do with me. I’m falling in love with you, asshole, but you planned to ride into enemy territory without any thought of your safety?” She realized she’d just revealed entirely more than she wanted to. She blushed crimson. “Never mind. Go home Clayton. I’ll see you tomorrow at the ball.”

  “What did you just say?”

  She started to run. “Go home, Clayton?”

  Clayton caught up to her and gently pulled her into his arms. “Emma.”

  “I cannot believe you were so willing to get yourself killed.”

  “That wasn’t the plan when I left this morning.” He held her close. “Shh, you don’t need to cry over me.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t get that memo. I will cease crying immediately,” she said sarcastically.

  A low rumble emanated from his chest.

  “Oh, good, now you’re laughing at my pain. Maybe my pimp was right. I should just cut you loose. He keeps asking for his money and you haven’t delivered, so—”

  He kissed her. This was not the kiss of the courting couple, but the kiss of a man desperately in love with the woman he held in his arms. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked as he broke the kiss.

  “Me? I’m not the one trying to get myself killed.” She pushed herself away slightly, but he pulled her back into his arms and held her. She dropped her head to his chest. “Clayton, I really am sorry about your friend.”

  “Thank you.” He gave her a gentle squeeze.

  “What will you do now?”

  Clayton shrugged. “I don’t know. Richard’s right about the danger, but I feel as though I should do something. I hate sitting around being idle.”

  She glanced up at him. “What would have happened if you’d received the news in Washington?”

  “I’d have been ordered to stay local.”

  She looped her arms around his neck. “Well, then I order you to stay local.”

  “For now.”

  “Fine.” She patted his chest. “But you’ll tell me next time you plan to do something that stupid.”

  “Yes, Emma, I’ll tell you. Now, where did your sister go?”

  “They probably went back to find food.” She wove her fingers with his. “Are you hungry? You could join us for lunch.”

  “I should check in with the men and make sure they’re on track. If they are, then lunch would be appreciated.”

  She led him to the horses. “I’ll need some help mounting, please. These skirts are impossible.”

  CLAYTON HELPED EMMA onto her horse and the couple rode back to the arena. Jamie and Sophie were putting Samson back into his stall when they arrived, so Clayton lifted Emma down and then went off to the arena to check in with the men. Emma entered the barn to find a beaming Sophie brushing Samson down. “I take it the ride went well?”

  Sophie nodded. “Yes, it was great. We took it easy, and I feel much better. How’s Clayton?”

  “He’s fine. Getting information out of him, though, makes me want to rip my hair out. He is so monosyllabic.”

  “Think about his job.”

  Emma grunted. “I’m not talking about trade secrets, Sophie. I’m talking about personal stuff.”

  “He’s a nineteenth-century man, Em.” Sophie paused with her brushing and then patted Samson’s withers. “Give him time. You’ll bring him around.”

  “Maybe. Thanks for the privacy, by the way. I thought for sure you’d hover.”

  Sophie laughed. “Oh, believe me, I wanted to. You can thank
Jamie for that. He made me leave.”

  Emma giggled.

  “You summoned?” Jamie said from the doorway.

  “We were talking about you, not to you,” Sophie said.

  “Well, Clayton and I will just have lunch without you, then.” He turned to make his way back outside.

  “Don’t move.” Sophie stepped out of Samson’s stall and closed his door. “Our baby’s hungry.”

  Emma followed and greeted Clayton, who was waiting for them by the arena. She was disappointed lunch was quick, and even more disappointed when Clayton didn’t join them for dinner. He did send a note, so she chalked that up to progress.

  “Is he not coming, Em?” Sophie asked after she received the note.

  “Apparently not.” Emma slapped down the note. “He didn’t say why, of course.”

  “You’ve had a pretty emotional day. It would probably be better if you got a decent night’s sleep. Tomorrow’s going to blow your mind.”

  “Really, Soph? Blow my mind? Isn’t that a bit melodramatic?”

  She laughed. “You’ll see.”

  “I am tired. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.” Emma headed to bed and tried her best not to obsess over her newfound insecurity.

  * * *

  Sophie woke Emma at nine o’clock the next morning. “Good morning, sissy. Time to wake up. Breakfast is over, but I brought you a tray.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Really?” Sophie walked over to the side of the bed and looked down at her sister. “Em? What’s wrong?”

  Emma rubbed her eyes. “I didn’t sleep well.”

  Sophie raised an eyebrow. “How come?”

  “Because I’m an idiot who can’t seem to control my emotions.”

  Sophie settled her hands on her hips. “Were you upset that Clayton didn’t come for dinner?”

  “Yes—and no. I mean, I get that maybe something came up, it’s just that he’s so freakin’ vague about everything.”

  Sophie laughed quietly. “Oh, honey, you’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

  “I want to go home.” Emma climbed out of bed and made her way to the bureau. “I can’t do this anymore, it’s too much.”

  “Emma Justine, you’ve been here for less than a month. You have more in you than that.”

  Emma poured water into the porcelain bowl on the dresser and set the pitcher down with a thump. “Please don’t give me the whole ‘we are Wellingtons and we don’t run’ speech! When does it stop, Soph? First mom, then dad, then you and Jamie? How much of this shit do I have to take before I’m allowed to say “enough?” I just want a guy who doesn’t cause me any grief. An easy one, who doesn’t make me feel like I’m losing my mind.”