All Through the Night

by Tara Johnson

  She could afford no more excursions into dark alleys.

  Chapter 1

  APRIL 1861

  “What do you think, Songbird?”

  Cadence turned and smiled at her father’s familiar nickname as they stepped into his toy shop and surveyed the space. The narrow display windows were filled with lace-trimmed dolls on one side and toy soldiers acting out battle scenes on the other. She had already witnessed young children pressing their eager faces to the glass, although Father had not yet opened the store for business.

  The gleaming shelves were lined with dominoes and ninepins, whistles and cinch puzzles, harmonicas and marbles. Large baskets were strategically located throughout, filled with ball-and-cup toys, blocks, balls, and a variety of carved animals. More complex games like chess and checker sets rested along the higher shelves. Paper dolls and tea sets, trains and gyroscopes . . . even a spectacular telescope stood like a sentinel in the corner. Best of all were the glass containers filled with an assortment of candy. Licorice, peppermint, lemon drops, butterscotch, sour drops, and cream candy provided a dazzling assortment of vivid, mouthwatering colors to old and young alike.

  She propped her hands on her hips. “A bit more polish and I do believe it will be ready.”

  Her father’s lips twisted in a soft smile as he studied his tiny kingdom, his blue eyes mellow with gentle sadness. “Do you think your mother would approve?”

  She rose on tiptoe and brushed his cheek with a kiss, enjoying the slight scratch of his shaven jaw against her skin. “She would be delighted.”

  He sighed. His shoulders seemed a bit more stooped of late, though fifty-three was far from old. The silver threading his hair was more noticeable than the dark brown. Still, the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth were not deep. He was tall and slim. A handsome man. Perhaps she should encourage him to remarry.

  The thought stung. Mother had been gone two years, but sometimes it felt like a lifetime. Cadence tried to fill the void as best she could, but a daughter was a poor substitute in companionship. In truth, Father seemed not to notice her attempts to try.

  She longed to see the sad, haunted look swept from his eyes. To know in the dark of night he was not lonely, for most assuredly he was now. Why else would he sit in front of the parlor fire with naught but Dickens and Defoe to keep him company into the wee morning hours? She’d caught him reading late into the night more than once. Each time he claimed to be absorbed in the story, unable to put the volume down, yet he’d read the books numerous times. Knew the plots by heart.

  As did she.

  They had both hoped the move to Washington would be a fresh start, a way to eradicate the dark memories and ghosts that haunted them in Boston. What could be done when ghosts occupied a heart?

  The bell over the door jangled and three men swept into the room, each wearing a somber black coat and tall hat.

  Father donned a welcoming expression and spread his arms wide. “Mr. Dodd, how wonderful to see you again! You are one of the very first to visit, and visit before the store is open to the public, I might add.”

  The youngest-looking man, shorter than the other two with barely a hint of silver at his temples, smiled widely and clasped Father’s hand with a hearty chuckle. “Then I consider myself most fortunate indeed.” He turned to his companions. “Gentlemen, may I introduce my good friend and one of our newest residents of Washington, Mr. Albert Piper.”

  The other men, a Mr. Brooks and Mr. Simmons, each shook his hand, their own welcome somewhat less jovial, though Cadence noticed they took in the store’s inventory with a gleam of approval. Mr. Dodd turned in her direction. “And who is this beautiful young lady?”

  Father placed his hand on the small of her back. “This is Cadence, my daughter.”

  Heat brushed her cheeks at their open stares, but Mr. Dodd nodded kindly. Lifting her fingers to his lips, he offered a chaste kiss to her hand and murmured, “Enchanted.”

  She cleared her throat. “Thank you, sir. Likewise.”

  He released her and winked at Father. “Where have you been hiding such a beauty, Albert? If Washington’s social set knew she was here, your door would have been pounded down with suitors ready to stake their claim.”

  Father laughed weakly and tugged at his collar. “Why do you think I keep her at home?”

  Her neck burned, but she forced a shy smile. “Our recent move has kept me busy setting up house.”

  Dodd nodded. “No doubt. Once that tedious task is finished, you must come dine with my wife and me.”

  “We would be delighted.”

  “It may be a while yet. At least for Cadence. Setting up a household takes quite some time, you know.”

  She frowned. Unpacking was nearly finished. Did he not wish her to visit Mr. Dodd?

  Shouts erupted from beyond the door. A crush of people streamed past the window, the forms of men and women alike scurrying in a blur of color.

  Mr. Dodd stepped toward the window. “What on earth?”

  The door flew open, slamming against the wall with a bang. A newspaper boy stood in the open space, his satchel bulging. Behind him, shouts intensified.

  “Did you hear the news, gentlemen? It’s just come across the telegraph.”

  Father took a step toward the gangly youth. “What news? Why the melee?”

  The boy straightened his thin shoulders. “Early this morning, Confederates under the command of General Beauregard opened fire upon Fort Sumter in Charleston, South Carolina.”

  Cadence heard Dodd suck in a harsh breath. Father bowed his head. She bit her lip. “What does this mean?”

  Dodd’s dark brows knit together. “I’m afraid, Miss Piper, this means we are now officially in the thick of war.”

  Joshua Ivy crammed his hands in his pockets and walked quickly down Fourth Street, his thoughts tumbling one over another.

  Not a week after the firing on Fort Sumter and Washington had already been transformed. The approach of summer usually meant a sleepy time of relative calm working at Washington Infirmary. His lips firmed into a tight press. This summer would be different.

  People streamed into the city in droves. Hotels strained to bursting, even as new ones were hastily being constructed overnight. Train whistles blasted day and night and the streets were always crowded, with nary a moment’s rest. And with President Lincoln calling for seventy-five thousand militiamen, things would only grow worse.

  More upsetting still, the morning’s newspaper had announced with bold letters: “VIRGINIA SECEDES.” How many more would follow?

  Madness.

  Papa John would have been heartbroken. And how would this affect his own work at the hospital?

  Keeping his head down, he turned onto E Street.

  “Feel like trying your luck, sir?”

  Joshua stopped and stared at the shyster eyeing him from the corner. The kid couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen at best. Three battered tin cups sat before him on a rickety table. The shell game?

  Resisting the urge to laugh, Joshua sauntered closer. “I’ve naught but a nickel.”

  The fellow’s eyes lit up. “A nickel will do. This game is simple.” He began shuffling the cups around, his dirt-stained fingers moving in a blur. “Guess which cup is holding the ball. Not difficult for a man of distinction such as yourself, am I right?” The lad was laying it on thick.

  “Indeed.”

  When he’d finished shuffling, Joshua tapped the cup farthest to the right. “There.”

  The boy lifted it and groaned. “By the saints, you’ve done it. I should have known better than to challenge a man with such astute powers of observation. Shall we have another go? Double or nothing?”

  Joshua smiled. “Why not?”

  The shuffle of cups, the scraping of tin on wood. The lad stopped with a flourish. “Tell me, where is the ball?”

  Joshua lifted a brow. “In your hand.”

  The lad’s composure faltered. “What’s that you say?” />
  With a frown, Joshua lurched forward and grabbed his hands, wrenching them open to reveal the ball tucked inside the left palm.

  The boy paled. “How—how did you know?”

  Joshua pursed his lips. “Let’s just call it a hunch. First rule of running games: Don’t get caught. Ever. Word gets around.” He released the lad, who blinked as if he’d been slapped.

  Joshua’s heart tugged. “You got family?”

  “A mother. Little brother.”

  “Your father?”

  “Dead.”

  Joshua scooped up the nickel and tossed it to him. “Here. Take it. Where do they live?”

  The lad mumbled the address, and Joshua tried not to wince. The slummiest part of the city. He made a mental note to take them some food later.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Thomas Moore.”

  “Well, Thomas Moore, you seem like a bright young man. Too bright to be wasting your life running games and tricking folks out of nickels and dimes. If you ever want honest work, come find me.”

  The boy nodded, his neck mottled red. “And where would that be?”

  “Washington Infirmary. My name’s Dr. Joshua Ivy. Oh, and, Thomas?”

  He looked up, his pale-blue eyes wide. “Sir?”

  Joshua leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Second rule of running games? Keep alert. There’s a police officer right across the street and he’s noticed your cups. If I were you, I’d act as if I was taking a drink from one of them and move along.”

  Thomas swallowed. “How did you know that?”

  Joshua winked. “I keep alert.”

  “Cadence. Sing me a song.”

  Mother’s weak voice trembled in the low light, wavering like the flickering flame of the spent candle near her bed. Cadence reached for her hand. Cold. So cold.

  “Wh-wh-what do you want me to sing?”

  “Anything. Everything.”

  Cadence closed her eyes, a hundred melodies flying through her mind before she landed on the perfect words.

  “Meet me by moonlight alone,

  and then I will tell you a tale.

  Must be told by the moonlight alone,

  in the grove at the end of the vale . . .”

  The candlelight faded as darkness closed in. Cadence snatched Mother’s hand closer, but her fingers were slipping away. Her eyes burned like coals through the encroaching shadows.

  “Save me, Cadence. Save me . . .”

  Tears streamed as she tried to hold Mother’s cold fingers, but the tighter she gripped, the quicker Mother slipped from her grasp. The bed plunged her into a black abyss as all the light was snuffed out.

  “Father! Tate! Help me!”

  Cadence stumbled through the clawing darkness, but it panted against her heart like a beast waiting to snap her up. No light, no path. No one could see her. Hear her. She was alone.

  Alone. Alone.

  “No!”

  Warm air invaded as her eyes snapped open. Something fluttered over her face. Her sheets? With a cry, she yanked the offending fabric away and breathed in long pulls of night air. Moonlight cut silver swaths of light across her room. Gasping, she collapsed against her pillow.

  It was only a dream.

  Sweat glued her nightgown to her skin. Her heartbeat slowed as she twisted to stare up at the ceiling.

  Only a dream, and yet it wasn’t.

  Mother was gone, and she was to blame. Tate had fled and Father had little to do with her. Tears pricked her eyes as her throat swelled. In the ways that mattered, she was alone.

  Even now, surrounded by darkness, long-held childhood fears reached out to choke her. Terrified of being noticed while yearning to be seen, truly seen and loved, despite her flaws.

  Clutching the sheets between her fingers, she held them to her chest and willed the tears to flee.

  God, did you see me then? Do you see me now?

  Chapter 2

  CADENCE SIPPED HER WATER and studied the candlelit table as she reminded herself not to trip over her tongue.

  Cut-crystal dishes twinkled in the soft light. Wine-colored jellies glowed atop the white lace tablecloth. Fluffy bread and pressed balls of cold butter, stuffed pork, and creamed peas made for a sumptuous feast, but she could barely eat a bite . . . not with the Dodds’ son staring at her with such open admiration.

  Mr. Dodd had been true to his word. Four days after he’d visited the shop, Cadence and her father had received a dinner invitation in the post. What she’d not expected was to find three other couples present, along with the Dodds’ son, Stephen. From the moment she’d entered, he’d watched her with an attentiveness that caused her to squirm. She wouldn’t be able to manage a sip of water if he continued . . . not with those stormy gray eyes fixed upon her continually.

  Nevertheless, he was handsome, if a bit intense. The other couples at the table were closer to Father’s age. Perhaps Stephen was only relieved to find someone of his own age in attendance.

  Mr. Dodd chuckled, drawing her attention back to the conversation at hand.

  “Bully good story, James, although Mr. Piper may disagree, seeing as how he’s from Boston.”

  Father laughed. “No longer. Cadence and I are Washingtonians now and happy to be so.”

  A wiry fellow sitting near the end of the table chewed slowly. “Odd time to be putting down roots, yes? What with the city in such upheaval.”

  Father offered a wry smile. “We have nothing to compare it to, so I supposed the activity in Washington the norm.”

  Another man, thinner and sallower than his companions, shook his head, his limp jowls swaying like a hound dog’s. “I barely recognize the place.”

  His wife, a buxom woman swathed in silk, sighed melodramatically. “I agree. It’s dreadful. So many people crowding in. I went shopping just yesterday and could barely get down the street. Pickpockets and beggars will be swarming soon enough. The War Department thinks the number of people flooding in will only grow worse.”

  Mr. Dodd nodded. “Undoubtedly so, especially since President Lincoln has called for volunteers.”

  Painfully thin Mrs. Simmons leaned forward, her hawkish gaze fixed on Stephen. “Will you enlist, Stephen?”

  Straightening, he lifted his chin and darted a quick look to his parents. His father nodded. His mother lowered her face, her gaze fixed on her plate, lips trembling.

  “Yes, ma’am. I have already done so. Just this morning, in fact.”

  Father’s eyes softened. “God be with you.”

  Mr. Bagwell’s voice boomed. “We are proud of you, young Dodd. You go and whip those Rebels. Should only take a month or two at most.”

  “Hear, hear!”

  Glasses lifted around the table. Stephen beamed, yet his mother’s eyes shimmered like crystal.

  Mr. Dodd’s voice was far more subdued as they drank. “What of you, Simmons? Your boys planning to enlist?”

  “Of course, of course. Mark and Peter will be joining the fight on the morrow. Our youngest is champing at the bit, but I’ve told him fourteen is too young.”

  His wife frowned. “Indeed.”

  Mr. Bagwell turned to Father. “I suppose you need not worry about such things, Albert, seeing as you have only your lovely daughter to attend to. Shame not to have a son who can fight for the family honor, though.”

  Cadence sucked in a light breath. The man couldn’t know how deeply the remark stung.

  Dodd took another sip. “Albert, I thought you mentioned having a son. Am I mistaken?”

  Father cleared his throat, his expression grave. “You are not mistaken, Justus. I have a son.”

  Simmons’s brows rose high. “And when does he plan to enlist?”

  Father studied his plate. “I have no idea. I’ve not seen him for several years.”

  Silence settled like a heavy blanket. Tate’s choices had already cost them dear friendships in Boston. Would he curse their life in Washington too? Cadence kept her gaze averted.
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  Mrs. Simmons murmured, “A pity.”

  Her husband’s shrewd eyes narrowed. “Especially during a time when the honor of one’s family—and country—is so vitally important.”

  The man’s tone dripped with derision. Cadence slipped her hand into Father’s and squeezed. How dare they judge him and find him lacking, especially for failures that were Tate’s alone to bear. Father pulled his hand away.

  Dodd broke the strained silence with a gentle admonition. “Each of us is accountable to the Almighty for the decisions we make. We answer only for ourselves. May each of us strive to please him and do our part in this conflict, for truly we can do nothing less.”

  Cadence offered him a grateful look as the guests murmured their agreement and resumed their dinner.

  Tate had dishonored Father, left a path of destruction in his wake, and left them to pick up the pieces. Her brother might not be able to represent their family as he ought, but perhaps there was something she could do. A way to serve for honor, love, and country and gain Father’s admiration in the process.

  But how?

  “Miss Cadence? There is a visitor here to see you.”

  Cadence looked up from unpacking the last crate of china in the dining room to stare at the housekeeper in surprise.

  “I was not expecting any callers.”

  Louisa’s dark eyes twinkled, her teeth flashing in her mahogany face. “Yet one is here just the same. A young man. Handsome too.”

  Warmth seeped across her skin. She gently placed the rose-trimmed plate back in the straw-filled crate. “Look at you, Louisa. Grinning like a fox.”

  The older woman cackled. “About time you had someone calling, as pretty as you are. Go on. See to your young man. I’ll finish unpacking and bring in something to drink in a few minutes. Make sure you’re properly chaperoned.”

  Cadence shook her head. “I don’t have a young man.” Still, she offered Louisa’s arm an affectionate squeeze on the way out. Dear woman. She paused before the parlor, attempting to smooth her hair and brush the dust particles from her blue skirt. She must look a sight. With a pinch of her cheeks, she walked into the room and stopped.