“Colonel William Duvall patrolled this neighborhood regularly.”
He heard her shift in her chair and sigh loudly. For moment he thought perhaps she did not wish to continue, or perhaps was not quite sure how to do so, but then she began again.
“When he discovered that I was a young woman, alone, he kindly placed guards here for my protection.”
“He was a gentleman, then.” Benton lifted the cup and took another sip of the warm drink. Under normal circumstances he would have ended the conversation rather than invade her private thoughts, but he was so dizzy with fever and fatigue, he spoke aloud the words he was thinking.
“Yes, he was very much a gentleman. He began taking meals here occasionally, and then, after a few months, there was rarely a night when he did not visit.” Sarah rose and began pacing in front of the fire. “I suppose you are aware that Jake, my brother, served under General Mason for a time as a scout.”
Benton was well aware of the fact, as Mason had recommended that Jake join his elite squadron.
“Jake was captured the first summer of the war on his way here for a furlough.” Sarah paused and looked over her shoulder at Benton. “He was wearing civilian clothing.”
“So they took him as a spy?” Benton began to see the seriousness of the situation.
Sarah sat down again and stared straight into the now-blazing fire. For all Benton knew, her eyes were brimming with tears, but her tone remained impersonal. “Yes. As it happened, Confederate troops had recently hanged a spy—and the Yankees were intent on retaliation.”
She stopped and turned to face him. “You must understand, Colonel, that Jake is all I have. He is everything to me.”
Benton followed her movements with his eyes as she stood and began pacing again, her gown and wrapper flowing behind her like a moving cloud.
“Much as I hated to do it, I appealed to Colonel Duvall, and he…I don’t know how he did it…but he got Jake’s status changed to prisoner of war. He was sent to prison and was later exchanged.”
“Jake must be very grateful for what you did for him.”
“No, Jake knows nothing of it. I do not wish him to know. You must not tell him.”
“But why?”
Sarah sat down on the couch beside Benton. “He will think that is why I married the Colonel. He will blame himself.”
“Is it not?” Benton knew the question was a personal one, but he remained cautiously persistent in his questioning.
She lapsed into a short silence. “Not exactly why. I mean, he asked for my hand soon after. He wished to offer me protection with his name.”
Benton looked at her long and hard, but she turned her eyes from him and fixed them on the fire, trying to appear calm. “Even though he knew you were a daughter of the South?” It was obvious to Benton that Colonel Duvall recognized the spirit, courage, and patriotism of the young Southern woman he had befriended.
“Yes, in spite of that fact. God knows I had no thoughts then of the treachery in which I am now inured. But still I resisted…”
Benton watched as she stared at nothing, her eyes full of sorrow and despair. He had often seen her stare wistfully into the darkness or out toward the horizon as if she were looking for someone or something, and he wondered where her thoughts were wondering now, for she seemed unaware of his presence. Then she spoke again.
“I resisted…” Her voice trembled slightly, but she brought it under control after taking a deep breath and starting again. “I resisted until they brought him here wounded.”
“Mortally?”
She nodded. “It appeared so. But the doctor said the hope of a brighter future might be enough to pull him through.” She paused and took a long, deep breath. “I felt I owed him the happiness and comfort he had provided me by helping my brother. I could not let him die such a death if I held the power to in some way prevent it.”
Again, she took a long, shaky breath that was almost a sob. “He lived only a few days more.”
“Still, it was a great gift that you gave him.”
“He was the one who gave a gift.” She stood, blinking back the tears that brimmed the edges of her lashes. “As fate would have it, a gift far greater to my cause then the lifeblood he spilled for his own!”
Benton’s heart pounded at the emotional, despairing tone of her voice. There had always been more determination than despair in her face and manner, but now her whole attitude spoke unerringly of a heavy grief he was powerless to help her banish.
She lowered herself to the couch beside him. “It hurts me…deeply”—she put one hand on his arm, the other on her heart—“to use his name as I am now, even for such a good cause.”
Colonel Benton thought about the advantage of trust she had gained by being the widow of a Union officer, and understood her dismay. The fact that she had not planned this path of treachery made it no less painful to her.
“Believe me, it was not until my friends and neighbors turned against me because of the marriage that I considered using the relationship for the good of the South. It seemed I had nothing to lose.”
“He knew your loyalties,” Benton said, trying to comfort her. “You must not believe he would think ill of you.”
With her face in her hands as if to shield her emotions from him, Sarah nodded. “Yes, he knew. But it makes the guilt no less.”
Benton stared at the emotion wrought from this vulnerable woman who had suffered so much and been given so little. It was now obvious she had locked her heart away to protect it from future pain, and he suddenly yearned for a small piece of it. “You loved him then.”
Sarah was silent for a long moment, and when she spoke, her words were filled with emotion. “I do not believe I loved him.” She looked up at Benton with big, sorrowful eyes. “But he is the greatest man I have ever known.”
When she got up and placed two more logs on the fire, Benton reflected on what an honor it would be to claim that title—to be regarded as the greatest man this woman had ever known. He remembered watching her delicate yet indomitable figure poke at the logs as he promised himself he would make that achievement his life’s endeavor. And then he remembered no more.
* * *
The next morning, Benton awoke to the sound of crackling flames and humming in a distant room. Removing the quilt from across him, he followed the sound into the kitchen. “What was that concoction you made me drink last night?” he said sternly upon seeing her busy at the cook stove.
She looked up as if startled and then smiled. “Good morning, Colonel. It’s a pleasure to see you in such a good mood.”
“The liquid you made me drink,” he said again, rubbing his head. “What was it?”
“Just something my grandmother used to make for me,” she said, shrugging. “You slept well, did you not?”
“Yes, I slept well,” he thundered. “That is the point. I intended to get back to my men.”
“But, Colonel, you told me yourself your men would not miss you for one night. And had you tried to ride out of here, you would have passed out within a mile from chill and fever. Now go change into your own clothes while I finish breakfast.”
She turned around as if dismissing him, but Benton did not see. He was staring down at his clothes apparently just remembering they were not his own.
“Don’t worry, Colonel, you put them on all by yourself,” she said, still busy over the stove.
Benton stormed out of the room and returned a short time later fully dressed. Lowering himself into a chair at the table, he watched her pour a steaming cup of coffee. “I suppose I should apologize for my earlier behavior. I did not wake in the best of moods.”
“Apology accepted, Colonel. It comes as no surprise me that you are grumpy in the morning.”
“And how much time have you spent thinking about what my moods may or may not be first thing in the morning?” he asked inquiringly as he took the cup of coffee she handed him.
The question turned her cheeks crimson. “I ha
ve spent no time on it…” She did not finish her thought, but went back to the task of cracking eggs, which became a noisy and violent affair.
Benton’s gaze drifted to the gun lying across a chair in the opposite room. It occurred to him that he had never seen it out of her reach—-and rarely out of her hands. “And how did you sleep last night, Mrs. Duvall?”
She looked up sharply, and he saw more clearly the weariness in her eyes and the swollen lids that come from lack of rest. “Quite well, thank you.” She turned and reached for a plate.
“It’s just that I noticed your gun lying across the chair and feared perhaps you stayed up all night on picket duty.”
She remained quiet a moment as if assessing the situation and deliberating on an answer. Then she slowly turned to face him. “I suppose I must be honest with you, Colonel. Despite being a mere woman, I do have the ability to comprehend certain things.”
“Such as?”
“A colonel, without his command, was asleep in my home behind enemy lines.”
He smiled. “That makes it sound like you were worried about my safety. You would grieve for my loss?”
Her answer came with little thought. “It would be the country’s loss, not mine.” She went back to work, scooping the eggs out of a pan and plopping them onto his plate.
Benton shook his head and took another deep breath. The vein of steel that ran through her was unbreakable and unbendable. Although she was nothing like any of the women he had known in the past, somehow she manifested all the grace and social elegance that makes a woman desirable. He was reminded of his silent pledge the previous night, and the yearning to attain her esteem grew within him.
“Let’s be honest,” he said softly. “Without the lady’s aide, the colonel’s value to the country would be greatly diminished.”
She must have heard the emotion and respect in his tone, because she raised her gaze to his and blinked. “Nevertheless, I could not sleep.” She turned and sat a pitcher down on the table in such a way that he could tell it would be a loss of time to dwell upon the point. “Would the colonel like buttermilk with his breakfast?”
She did not wait for an answer or for an offer to pour it, but swiftly removed her apron and headed for the door. “I have some other chores to do. The colonel may let himself out when he has finished eating.”
Benton cringed slightly when the door slammed shut behind him, but he could not stop thinking about the woman who did the slamming. He knew now that the icy exterior was but a shield to hide from view the obvious warmth and compassion that lay hidden within, qualities she kept securely disguised beneath a mask of mystery.
* * *
Sarah slipped on her coat and put her head down against the terrible bite of the wind outside. Heading for the barn, her cheeks still red from her conversation with Colonel Benton, she hurriedly threw some grain to his horse, filled water buckets, and continued to the chicken house to gather eggs. When she was sure she had heard him ride away, she went back to the house and found he had stoked the fire to a blaze. Warming her hands for a moment, she decided to clean up the dishes before lying down to get some much-needed sleep.
Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, she paused a moment and pulled out the dented button she had removed from Benton’s coat. Closing her eyes, she said a silent prayer and then felt a single teardrop run down her cheek. She did not stop to decipher its cause, but tucked away the dented button that had protected the colonel’s heart…and likewise had probably saved her own.
Chapter 10
My heart bleeds at the death of every one of our gallant men.
—Robert E. Lee, in a letter to his wife, December 25, 1862
December 1863
In the dusk of early evening there lay an aura of quiet graciousness about the house called Waverly. It was one of those uncommon evenings in winter when a hint of warmth comes back into the air, bringing with it the comfort and contentment of a spring-like night.
Sarah had just lit the lamps when she heard boots on the porch and knew instinctively they were his. No one else moved with such impatience, authority, or strength, and no one else had the power to cause her heart to pound so forcefully. Fighting both the fear and excitement of seeing him again, Sarah restrained the urge to hurry. She wished to appear unaffected by his visit, yet she was so happy to see him that she knew it was impossible to look otherwise.
Reaching the door before he did, she flung it open as he prepared to knock. Her look of welcome faded when she beheld his gloomy countenance, causing a sinister sensation to creep up her spine. Her gaze drifted over his shoulder to the shaded darkness of the tree line where some of his men waited. The horses stood motionless and the men in the saddles appeared as silent shadows in the gloomy dusk.
“Won’t you come in?” She stepped aside for the colonel to enter, and then paused, waiting for Major Connelly who was in the process of tying his horse to the post. Connelly simply removed his hat and swallowed nervously. “I’ll wait out here ma’am.”
Sarah glanced once more at the men in the shadows, but could make out none of their faces, so deeply were their heads bowed to their chests. Closing the door behind Colonel Benton, she stared at him with heart-wrenching scrutiny, trying to read what the lines on his face foretold. He spoke no words for a few long moments, yet his eyes said everything she needed to know. “You bring bad news?”
Benton gazed at her silently as if mustering strength for a confession. Fingering his hat, he took a deep breath, and with heroic effort kept his voice from cracking. “I fear so. And words cannot convey how deeply I regret the necessity of bearing it.”
Sarah took a choking breath as she stepped forward, her fingers digging reflexively into his arm. “Jake?” Her eyes brimmed with tears, yet somehow none breached the lids.
“He was wounded two days ago in that engagement at Bailey’s Farm.” Benton seemed to be trying to make his voice sound unemotional, but he blinked twice to control an apparent sudden rush of moisture. “He passed this morning.”
Sarah nodded, her chest rising and falling as she absorbed the dreadful news. Normally calm and collected, she now trembled, yet her head remained held high as she gazed mournfully into vacancy.
“I had no reason to believe that I would be exempted from the loss that so many others have endured,” she murmured, knowing full well there was no house, high or low in the length and breadth of Virginia, that had not mourned some lost father or brother or son.
“I took the liberty of telling Jake about your…situation before he died,” Benton said, his tone more grave than reassuring. “He wished your forgiveness, and I told him I knew you well enough to know it was freely given.”
Sarah nodded in acknowledgment that she had heard him, but her chin trembled at the effort of suppressing her emotions. It gave her some measure of comfort to know her brother died knowing that she served her country, and she was grateful that Benton had made the decision to tell him.
“It’s very kind of you to deliver the news personally, Colonel. You come at great risk.”
“He was one of my best officers, Mrs. Duvall.” Benton’s glistening eyes told Sarah more than his words. “I know this is a great loss to you, but it must give you some measure of consolation to know he died bravely in defense of his country.”
Sarah nodded, and then turned to the door to let him out. She was surprised by the light touch of Benton’s hand when he laid it upon her shoulder to stop her.
“Wait. There is something else.”
She turned slowly. “Yes?”
“Jake’s wife came to his side as soon as she heard he’d been wounded.”
“His wife?” Sarah cocked her head and stared at him, her voice and countenance giving away her surprise.
“Yes, and I have no means to convey her safely back through the lines now—especially with Snipes patrolling the area. I know it would be an inconvenience, but—”
“Does she know?”
“No, I did not
feel it my place to tell her. If Jake didn’t, then she believes you are a—”
“Traitor.” Sarah finished for him.
Benton lowered his head and nodded. “Yes. But she is weak right now. I do not wish to risk her traveling any farther, and Jake requested that she come here.”
“Very well. Where is she?”
Benton nodded toward the door, where the sound of the creaking wheels of a wagon could now be heard. “Her name is Lucy. Mrs. Lucy Callahan.”
Without hesitation, Sarah opened the door and descended noiselessly down the steps. Greeting Lucy solemnly and taking her hand like she was an old friend, Sarah helped her down from the conveyance, and pretended not to be surprised when she saw the young girl was with child.
Benton cleared his throat and walked toward the two women. “Lucy, despite Mrs. Duvall’s politics, I believe you will be safe here until other arrangements can be made.”
Teary-eyed with emotion, Lucy merely nodded. Sarah wrapped her arm around the girl and helped her up the steps to the door. Letting her inside, she paused and turned when Benton spoke.
“I don’t know when I’ll be back, Mrs. Duvall. It may not be safe for Lucy to travel for some time.”
“She will be safe here. I will see to that.”
“Yes, I knew you would.” Colonel Benton handed Sarah a bag of Lucy’s belongings and went to untie his horse before turning to her one last time. “Your brother wished to be interred here. I can have a burial party here tonight if it is acceptable to you.”
“Near the old oak.” Sarah nodded toward the spreading limbs of the tree that dominated the far side of the yard as if anticipating the question.
Benton nodded and mounted his horse. “If I can serve you in any other way, hesitate to ask nothing of me, Mrs. Duvall.”
Sarah looked at Benton with glistening eyes, smiled briefly in appreciation, and then disappeared through the door.
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