Above and Beyond

by Jessica James

  Her laugh was loud and brazen, and her voice carried with it all of the coquettish witchery of seduction and desire, slurred as it was with liquor and lust. Connelly frowned. He had seen the woman before, though he didn’t know her name. What Benton saw in her, he could not fathom and didn’t wish to guess. She was older than many of the others present and seemed to exude impropriety.

  His thoughts drifted to his own beautiful wife at home, making the idea of spending the evening in a roomful of doting women tedious and wearisome at best. But he knew Benton was different. The colonel enjoyed swinging a member of the opposite sex across the dance floor, yet he had an even greater affinity for smoke and fire and danger and speed.

  Making his way across the room, Connelly glanced again at his commander. Although he appeared frolicking and fun-loving right now, he was just as well known for his headlong recklessness and valor. The colonel made decisions instinctively and instantly in moments of danger, which had garnered the respect of all those who served under him.

  Connelly knew Benton’s flirtations with the opposite sex were, for the most part, innocent maneuvers to dispel the dangers of the battlefield. Yet still, he felt it his duty to stay and keep an eye on his commander. Despite Benton’s intuition about military matters, his instincts with women were lacking. It was understandable really. Given so many temptations and so few restrictions, it was difficult for him to say no.

  “Sir, may I have a word?” Connelly nodded toward the open door of the balcony and watched Benton remove the lady’s possessive hand from his arm. When the two stood alone outside, Connelly gave him the whispered message. “Turk just returned.” He pulled a communication from out of his pocket. “Found this in the old tree.” He watched Benton scan the missive intently, and tried to discern whether concern or aggravation flashed across his face as he read.

  “Very good,” Benton said, folding up the note and shoving it into his coat. “According to our friend Sid, we have no reason to expect any surprise visits from the Yanks. Lambert’s men are apparently on their way to Clarksburg.”

  “How does he always know what the Yankees are doing?” Connelly looked over at his commanding officer curiously. “And who is he, I wonder?”

  “As long as he gets it right, I don’t care.” Benton walked over to the railing and leaned out over to see beyond the shrubs. “The horses are causing a raucous on the picket line. Go see what Harris is doing.”

  Connelly nodded and hurried to follow the order.

  * * *

  Benton stood alone in the shadows of the veranda for a moment, trying to figure out why any conversation about “Sid” made him uneasy. He had not been there long when a group of women speaking in hushed tones by the door caught his attention. Assuming they were talking about him, he strained his ears to hear the discussion.

  “Yes, well everyone knows about Jake Callahan’s sister. It’s such a shame.”

  “A shame?” another said. “Why, it’s an outright disgrace! Truly she should be run out of the neighborhood on a rail, just like the days of old.”

  Colonel Benton stepped out of the shadows and approached the group. “Pardon me, ladies, I could not help but overhearing. Were you speaking of Captain Callahan of my command?”

  “Why, Colonel Benton—yes, we were,” the first lady answered. “But no need for alarm—Jake is as loyal as they come, even if his sister is not.”

  “And what do you know of his sister’s loyalties?”

  The group snickered and laughed. “Why, Colonel, don’t you know? She went and married a Yankee. Nursed him after he was wounded and then married him. As fate would have it he died, so now she’s a widow at twenty-one, and there’s no one that thinks she don’t deserve it.”

  “That’s very young to be a widow.” Benton had not realized that the icy figure with whom he had so often conversed was almost ten years his junior. The wisdom—or perhaps the pain—in her eyes had led him to believe she was more advanced in age. His comment elicited quite a hive of buzzing.

  “The widow of a Yankee!” Mrs. Oliver said, with obvious loathing. “Living in Virginia and entertaining those creatures every chance she gets. To think those vile wretches should dare come here and be permitted to pollute our dear old home spots with their footsteps. Why it is outright appalling!”

  “Well, I suppose we should not be harsh on someone who followed their heart,” Benton said, trying to appeal to the group’s feminine emotions. “Sometimes such things cannot be helped.”

  “Cannot be helped?” one of them shrieked. “They met and married and he was gone. All in a week they say, though I’m in no position to know.” The woman waved her fan in front of her face as if the whole idea were abhorrent to her.

  Another woman, dressed in a light green silk, had her hackles up and chimed in as well. “And look how she continues to aid and abet—everyone knows it. In fact, don’t those Yankees just throw that in our faces when we refuse to feed them. ‘Why can’t you be more like Mrs. Duvall,’ they say to us. ‘Mrs. Duvall has sense to know who’s on the winning side.’ Why it’s outright treason what she does!”

  Colonel Benton said nothing more. There was nothing more to say. He stood staring thoughtfully into the darkness beyond, thinking of the she-devil of Waverly who carried such a heavy burden upon her small shoulders. If he had not realized the depth and breadth of the sacrifice before, it was hitting him squarely in the chest now. Although she carried no gun on a battlefield and would gather no glory for her service, she was giving as much to the Cause as any man in uniform. Nothing meant more to a Virginia-bred woman than did honor and reputation, and Sarah Duvall had surrendered both to her country. Her life was one of misery and solitude, and he could only imagine the agony it caused her.

  Benton’s mind drifted to the intelligence that had been delivered from her hands, and had to admit her sacrifices were at least not in vain. She supplied information straight from the lips of the officers who had devised the plans, often with complete sketches of their defenses, positions, and numbers. No scout or spy in the army could boast of such enterprises, yet scouts could boast of their endeavors and be swathed in laurels at the end of their mission. She, on the other hand, had no one to confide in.

  Benton rubbed his chin and began pacing on the porch. As important as the duty was, as eagerly as she had accepted the role, and as successful as she had been at carrying it out, he felt uneasy allowing her to continue. Jake Callahan’s sister, Mrs. Sarah Duvall, was an outcast, hated and despised by everyone she had ever known. Right now they shunned her as they would a rabid dog, but he feared their anger could turn to violence. A light touch on his arm interrupted his musings.

  “Colonel Benton?”

  “Yes, my dear.” Benton gazed into the anxious brown eyes of a girl of no more than eighteen. “What may I do for you, young lady?”

  “Colonel Benton, I just wanted to tell you what an honor it is to meet you, sir.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Miss…”

  “Carter… Lucy Carter. You are welcome to call me Lucy.”

  “Well, Miss Lucy, are you from Kingston?”

  She looked shyly at the floor and then up. “Yes, well…for now I am.”

  “Ah, so you are planning a move in the near future?”

  “Perhaps,” she said, looking around as if wishing to speak confidentially. “Actually, one of your men has asked for my hand.”

  Benton laughed loudly. “Oh, I see. And who is the lucky man?”

  Lucy stepped closer and said the name in a quiet voice. “Jake Callahan.”

  Benton looked deep into her eyes and then smiled knowingly. “A good man. One of my best officers, certainly among my bravest.”

  “That’s kind of you to say,” she said, her cheeks turning red.

  “Kind? I only speak the truth. Now what is bothering you, my dear?”

  “It’s just that…” She paused and gazed at the group of women still gabbing nearby.

  Benton leaned over
to speak confidentially. “You’re worried about the effect his sister will have on your reputation?”

  Lucy looked up as if startled that he had read her mind. “Is what they say true, do you think? Jake will not speak of it.”

  “I believe it would be wise,” Benton said, taking her arm and leading her into the shadows, “to never accept idle gossip as the truth.”

  “But you have met her, surely.” She looked up at him with imploring eyes. “Do you know her well?”

  “I have met her, yes.” Benton paused and drew some of the cool, night air into his lungs. “As for knowing her well, I have a feeling there are very few who do.”

  “It’s all so confusing,” Lucy said, looking up at the night sky. “My father forbids the marriage, and—”

  “Your father forbids the marriage? Because of Mrs. Duvall?”

  The girl’s eyes now brimmed with tears. “Yes. He does not want my name or reputation to be marred by that of a traitor.”

  Benton took a deep breath of discontent, though he understood her father’s position. The most prestigious families in the neighborhood were whispering about the character of one Sarah Duvall. It was only natural he should wish to protect his daughter’s standing. “And what does Jake think about all this?”

  “Oh, he will not speak of it.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “He will not allow her name to be mentioned in his presence.”

  Benton felt his heart thump hard against his chest. He had never before felt such a strong desire to divulge a military secret as he did at this moment, but he wisely held his tongue. “You must tell Jake not to judge her so harshly,” Benton said, trying to sound undisturbed. “Certainly he is not the only one with a close relative on the wrong side of the war.”

  “But she does flaunt it.” Lucy’s cheeks flushed with color. “She lives right here among us, and Mrs. Oliver is right. The Yankees use it against us every chance they get.”

  Benton took a deep breath and turned to stare out into the great expanse of night. “I cannot justify her actions, but neither can I hold them against her. War is a very…complex thing.”

  Lucy took a step closer to him. “I feel the same way. In fact, I pity her—especially tonight, with all those angry men.”

  Benton swung around and faced her. “What do you mean? What men?”

  Lucy took a step back and seemed to hesitate as if surprised by his reaction. “The Johnson brothers,” she said in a whispered voice. “They’ve gathered some men and are heading to Waverly. They say Colonel Beckham let her go without any punishment after those burnings in the area. I fear they intend to do some of their own.”

  Chapter 7

  Must I be carried to the skies

  On flowery beds of ease,

  While others fought to win the prize,

  And sailed through bloody seas?

  — Isaac Watts

  From out of the darkness came the sound of hoof beats—not one or two, or even a dozen—but more like those of an entire cavalry troop. The clattering caused Sarah to run to the window in a panic, fearing she had misled Colonel Benton in her last message. She had told him all was clear, and feared for the soldiers she may have put in jeopardy on the strength of her word.

  When nothing but angry voices greeted her ears, she pressed herself against the wall and watched shadowy figures appear from the bosom of darkness. In moments, the yard was illuminated from the torches being waved wildly in the air.

  Quickly extinguishing the candles that were burning, she grabbed the shotgun and stood with her hand on the door latch, nerving herself for the confrontation to come. The violent force gathering outside the door was palpable—she could feel it without even seeing it—and she knew there was no one within miles to protect her. She was utterly alone.

  “Come out and face your enemy!” someone yelled.

  Sarah took a deep breath and slowly opened the door. Taking a few steps onto the porch, she searched the angry faces of the crowd for any sign of kindness or compassion. Finding none, she tried to alleviate the tension. “I see only faces of neighbors and friends.” Her voice was strong at first, but faded in the end. “I see no enemies.”

  “The hell you don’t!” another person responded. “You give aid to the Yankees and let the rest of us bear the brunt of their violence! Some kind of neighborly friend you are!”

  “Burn her house down, like they burned my mill!” a man yelled to shouts of agreement.

  “Yes, burn it down. Serves her right!”

  Sarah watched the crowd surge forward, the torches waving wildly and creating a streak of light against the blackness of the night. She was experienced at reading the signs of drunkenness, but it took no expert analysis to see that these eyes glowed more from frenzied hate than from too much liquor. She continued to hold the gun plainly in one hand, yet made no attempt to use it or to defend herself.

  The sound of hoofbeats thundering through the darkness caused the mob to pause and seek their source. A horse soon sailed over the garden gate at a reckless speed, scattering some of the crowd, while the rest parted like a great sea allowing the horse and rider to approach the house.

  Sarah heard whispers and astonished mutterings, though all she could see at first was that the rider was a magnificent horseman, broad-chested and splendidly proportioned. As he drew closer to a torch, she recognized the figure, calm and unruffled, the very picture of a soldier.

  His gaze met hers only briefly in the soft glow of torchlight before he turned back to the crowd, which had stepped back and made room for him in evident respect and regard. Not a man spoke or raised his voice, yet the eyes of all were upon him. The composed tone, the bold stance, and the gallant bearing revealed a man who knew no fear. His very presence shrouded her in comfort, and brought a sense of calm to her pounding heart.

  * * *

  “What is the meaning of this?” Colonel Benton grabbed a torch from someone’s hand and waved it across the heads of the mob as if to light their upturned faces. Although his horse was heaving from its frenzied ride, he continued to pivot and paw the ground apparently sharing his rider’s wrath.

  “We’re doing onto others as they do onto us, Colonel!”

  “We do not wage war against women and civilians.” Benton sat his prancing horse with casual ease, though his voice revealed his anger. “No matter what low acts our enemies thrust upon us.”

  “Well, Col’nel, you know what this woman’s been up to well as anybody. We’re here to give her what she deserves.” Rounds of cheers rose up from the crowd as the torches flamed and spit.

  “Gentlemen, I have been given orders to keep the peace in this territory, and I demand that you depart.” Benton talked slowly and calmly, but his tone did not hide the anger that was evident, as he handed back the torch. “We cannot lower our good standing as a civilized society by perpetuating the same crimes we so ardently detest.”

  “But the wretches burned down my barn!” one man angrily protested. “And she was the cause of it.”

  All heads turned toward Sarah, who had moved to a corner of the porch to watch the events from the shadows. She swallowed hard, her eyes locked on the stalwart figure who sat with one hand on the reins, the other casually on the back of his saddle, as he turned to face the speaker. He radiated an image of power and strength, mixed with tremendous intensity and composure. She had never beheld such boldness before.

  “If you have evidence to support that claim, I’ve yet to see it,” Benton replied sharply. He paused, but only for a moment. “Regardless, the time for discussion has passed. General Lee has better use for his cavalry than to protect the rights of civilians from a mob of marauders. Again, I ask you to disperse.”

  His tone, demeanor, and reputation were such that, although many mumbled and complained under their breaths, none made an outright protest. In a few minutes time, the yard had cleared and the night had turned black again.

  Sarah turned to enter the house and almost immediately heard spurs clanking up t
he steps behind her. Once inside, she attempted to relight a candle with a shaking hand, but failed until a hand grasped her wrist from behind and held it steady. When the candle finally flared, he removed his hand but made no effort to step away.

  “You are very kind,” she said, not turning around.

  “And you are very brave.”

  Sarah held onto the back of a chair for support, not wanting him to see her distress. After a moment to restore her frantic nerves, she turned to him, and noticed how pale he appeared in the candlelight.

  “I fear for your safety.” He spoke so softly and sincerely that she began to scrutinize him more closely. For a moment she was stunned at the concern that lined his handsome face. She had not considered the possibility that he cared for anyone but himself, yet his countenance revealed a look of anxiety and worry, as if he had been visibly shaken by the experience. Sarah looked down at her own hands and clasped them to keep them from trembling. “I do not know how to thank you as you deserve.”

  “You do not need to thank me, Mrs. Duvall,” he said, somewhat coolly now. “I have no hesitation about rendering a service to one who has rendered so much service to me.”

  “But how did you—”

  “How I discovered it is a matter that needs not be told.” Benton seemed suddenly uncomfortable and moved to the window where he slid aside the curtain. “I believe they have dispersed, but I am willing to stay or post a few men, as you wish.”

  “No. That really won’t be necessary.” Sarah made an effort to smooth her skirt, pretending to be undisturbed. Through these long years of war, she had learned well how to mask her fear, to hide her desperation. “I am sure there will be no more trouble tonight.”