Ambrosia

by Rosanne Kohake

  She flinched at the sharpness in his tone and stared up at him in hurt disbelief. “But I’m not a child! I’m not!” The pain in her eyes made him wince. He had hurt her deeply; he had never meant to do that. “You are if you believe that there could ever be anything between us. I have a wife, Ambrosia.”

  “How noble of you to remember that!” came the choked retort from across the room.

  Ambrosia instinctively pulled away from Ledger, her eyes flying to the door of the parlor where Melissa stood beside a pale, distraught Madeline Bowman. For a long moment, the room was terribly silent.

  “You brazen little hussy!” Melissa lashed out. “Playing up to my husband like a common street woman! After we welcomed you into our home! After we endured the scandal of your working for that horrible Yankee woman!” Melissa clenched her fists hard and her breasts swelled with righteous indignation. She crossed the room, expecting a rush of hasty explanations, of tears and apologies that she could fling back in her sister’s face. But Ambrosia stood silent, her green-gray eyes somber and distant, her face an aloof mask. It was just like her, Melissa thought, to play the part of the injured party even when she was guilty as sin. How she hated that constant indifference, that arrogant shell Ambrosia always seemed to wear. There was never any sign of what she was feeling, if indeed she felt anything at all.

  Melissa’s jealousy grew stronger and more vindictive as she drew nearer to Ambrosia’s impassive face. It was all so unfair, that Melissa Lanford should be tied to a useless, defeated man while still young and beautiful, and that her sister should be free to do exactly as she pleased. It had always been that way, for as long as Melissa could remember, ever since Father had taken her to Columbia when she was a little girl. Ambrosia always got everything she wanted. But she could not have Ledger! God only knew why she would want him now; his face was so ugly one could hardly bear to look at it. But he was still Melissa’s husband, and now he had provided the perfect justifiable motive for Melissa’s vindictiveness toward her sister.

  Ledger stared out the window and said nothing, but Melissa noticed that his fingers gripped so tightly at his crutch that they had turned white. Her eyes narrowed, bright and hate-filled. “Whatever will your handsome Yankee major say when he hears you’ve been unfaithful to him?” she intoned sarcastically, her eyes remaining on Ledger’s face. “When he finds that you’re actually smitten with a crippled monster?”

  Madeline Bowman gasped and nearly swooned, clutching the door frame for support. Ambrosia’s eyes darted in panic to Ledger’s face, which clearly reflected the accuracy of Melissa’s blow. “You know there was never anything between Major Rambert and me.’’ Her eyes searched for some sign of pity in the cold, hard lines of Melissa’s face.

  “Nothing between you?” Melissa scoffed. She met Ambrosia’s eyes and flashed a falsely sweet smile. “I suppose it doesn’t really surprise me to hear that the major didn’t want you. Ledger didn’t want you either, did he? Has there ever been a man who wanted you, Ambrosia?” she taunted.

  Ambrosia’s rigid stance crumbled slowly in the silence that followed, the last remnants of her hope slipping away as she waited in vain for Ledger to respond. He said nothing.

  Has there ever been a man who wanted you? The words echoed louder and louder in her head, forcing Ambrosia to admit the truth. Ledger had never wanted her...Never wanted her...Never...

  Without a word, she turned to him, her face bright with tears. For the barest moment, she simply stared at him, her eyes pleading silently. He turned away. Suddenly she let out a sob and ran from the room.

  Chapter 16

  Drayton scowled as he turned away from the glass and tossed the hairbrush on the heavy oak bureau top. It had been a long time since he had gone to so much trouble for a woman, and his instincts warned him that Carolyn Craig wasn’t worth it. But the alternatives-another night alone, or searching out a woman of the streets­seemed worse at the moment. At least Carolyn offered him an interesting challenge.

  He straightened the gold braid at his cuffs, the epaulets at his shoulders, and worked the row of polished brass buttons that stretched over his chest. He fastened the buckle of a thick leather belt about his trim waist and gave a sharp tug at his tunic. Glancing again in the looking glass, he pulled on a pair of white gloves and scowled at his reflection once more. He grabbed his pistol and Hardee hat in a single motion, anxious to have this night over and done with. If Carolyn delivered anything near what she advertised, he told himself, then he ought to be able to forget everything and everyone else and concentrate on her alone, at least for a little while. That was all he really wanted at this point, to forget.

  He tossed a heavy cape about his shoulders and hurried down the stairs, nodding a terse greeting to two of the three officers with whom he shared the house. Colonel Beam, the senior officer of the group, came forward. He was a tall, graying gentleman, half again as old as Drayton, with keen eyes shrouded with heavy, drooping lids and a mouth perpetually set in a wry smile. Beam was a confirmed bachelor who had a habit of speaking his mind, but generally he cushioned his blunt candor with humor that made him pleasant company. “Oh-ho! Dressed to the hilt, I see.”

  Drayton paused to glance at his uniform, then gave a halfhearted shrug. “We seem to have the same tailor, Colonel.”

  ‘’Better the same tailor than the same woman,’’ he returned with a sip of his bourbon. “Join us for a quick drink?”

  “No, thanks. I think I’ll keep my wits about me tonight, if you don’t mind.’’

  “A wise move, Major,” called Lieutenant Hayes from the parlor, “if you’re planning to tangle with a female in the near future.’’ The slurred comment indicated that Hayes had already had too much to drink himself.

  “Going to the Dalys’ tonight?” Colonel Beam inquired with a lift of his brow.

  Drayton gave a nod. “And I intend to arrive early,” he said with finality, jerking on his hat. ‘’I’ll leave you gentlemen to your drinks.”

  Colonel Beam landed a hearty smack between Drayton’s shoulders. “Careful of Mrs. Craig,” he warned with a conspiratorial grin. “She’s had her eye on you for months now, Drayt.”

  ‘’Thanks for the advice, Colonel,’’ he returned with a cool smile.

  Drayton scowled as he stepped outside, turning his back to the strong wind, lighting a cigar as he waited for the young private to bring his horse around. He almost smiled when he saw the youngster coming, struggling mightily with the reins of the stallion, who pawed nervously and danced sideways in spite of the boy’s best efforts to be firm. Relenting, Drayton moved forward to grab the bridle and allow the white-faced lad to dismount. Drayton took possession of the reins and swung easily into the saddle. “Thank you, Private Reynolds.”

  “Will there be anything else, sir?” the boy asked, backing up a few steps and eyeing the horse warily.

  Drayton drew a final puff on the cigar and glanced thoughtfully at the sky as he tossed it to the ground. “Leave a bottle of brandy in my room, in case I get drenched. Oh-and don’t let me forget my meeting with General Saxton tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock.”

  Private Reynolds saluted with a hearty, “Yes, sir! Goodnight, sir!” then shook his head in wonder as the major reined the horse in a tight half-circle and took off down the street at an easy trot. He sighed wistfully, then hurried into the house to find some brandy.

  Ambrosia ran from the Meeting Street house without a backward glance, not stopping until she had covered several long blocks and felt a sharp pain in her chest. She stumbled along a darkened section of the street as a howling wind whipped at her cloak and threatened to knock her down. The wind was so much stronger than it had been just a few hours before, and a few defiant raindrops pelted her cheeks, mingling with salty tears. She ignored them and continued on. She did not know where she was going. She did not care. She had long since passed the emporium when the thought struck her. Sh
e would go to the river. She was almost certain she could bargain for passage on one of the ships there. She didn’t really care where it took her, as long as it was away from here. She only wanted to get away. She tried to think about where she might go, how far she might get on the twelve dollars she had in her possession, along with a few worthless items of clothing.

  She drew her cloak close as the rain began to fall in a more regular drizzle, hardly noticing that the alley she was passing echoed of drunken laughter and shrill voices. The empty streets began to fill with Yankees even as the rain fell harder. Oblivious to the eyes which followed her progress, oblivious to everything but the terrible truth she carried in her heart, Ambrosia stumbled on.

  Drayton reined his horse to a walk as a shadowy figure crossing the street caught his eye. There was something so familiar about the woman that he could not take his eyes away. He watched her for a moment, his chin lifting and eyes narrowing when a young soldier in fancy dress uniform stepped from a dark alley to block her path. She gasped and stepped backward, staring dumbly at the man, clutching at her cloak. The soldier closed the distance between himself and the woman, a dangerous glint in his eyes and a leering grin on his mouth. Drayton half expected her to scream. She did not. A common street woman, Drayton chided himself. He made to turn away, but something made him pause. The woman drew back abruptly then and attempted to sidestep the soldier. He moved to block her path again, his hand stretching boldly toward her and yanking at her hard. Drayton watched and waited. Perhaps they were merely discussing a price, but then again...

  Ambrosia swallowed hard as the first tinglings of panic began at her spine. But she was too tired to fight, too numb to bolt and run from the danger, so she stood silent, unmoving-afraid, yet unable to react to her fear. She felt the cold sting of rain at her cheeks as the soldier caught hold of her and jerked her abruptly against his chest. He pulled roughly at her bonnet until it fell away, then raked his fingers through her hair until it flew about her shoulders. Her eyes grew wide and bright with tears. “No!” she whispered, her breath coming short and hard. “Please, no!”

  Still unable to summon the strength to fight him, she began to scream hysterically. At that instant Drayton knew that it was she. He spurred the stallion hard and swung off, firing a warning shot that caused the soldier to start in surprise then freeze momentarily. The stallion’s hooves thundered as he reared and took off down the street. The soldier’s dark eyes darted anxiously about, seeking escape. He wanted no part of the gun-wielding stranger who rushed toward him. He pushed Ambrosia forcefully to the ground as he made a run for the alley. Drayton fired another shot after him, but the rain obscured his vision. The soldier went free as Drayton muttered a curse and hastened to Ambrosia’s side.

  She was crying softly, huddled in a near-fetal position, her hands held protectively over her face even as he called her name. She did not answer him. He took hold of her shoulders and lifted her, prying her hands from her tear-streaked face, studying her with concern. “Ambrosia, are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  It was a long time before the terror faded from her eyes. There was a tiny flicker of recognition before she faced away.

  “What in the name of heaven are you doing here? On a night like this?” he demanded, his anxiety giving way to anger. “And where the hell is Sheba?”

  She stared at him dumbly as he repeated his questions over and over again before the words registered in her mind. “I asked what you’re doing-”

  “I’m leaving Charleston,” she mumbled stonily as she turned slowly to retrieve her bonnet and bundle of clothing. ‘Tm going to book passage on a ship...’’

  His frown was dark and skeptical as he took the bundle from her trembling hands. “You certainly didn’t pack much,” he attempted lightly, “Are you planning a lengthy stay or merely a pleasure trip?’ ‘

  Her face tightened. “I’m leaving for good if it’s any of your business.” Her voice was tired.

  “It’s not,” he admitted. “But there will be no ships taking on passengers on this night,” he assured her. He moved to shield her as best he could from the rain and let out a lengthy breath as he helped her to her feet. ‘’Come on. I’ll take you home.”

  “No!” With a suddenness that startled him, she snatched away from his grasp, the panic burning bright again in her green eyes.

  “Ambrosia...?”

  “No! I can’t go back there!” She let out a cry of anguish and shook her head violently as she backed away from him. “I can’t! Not ever!”

  He searched her face uneasily. “Where then?”

  She lurched forward to grab blindly at her bundle and would have fled had he not taken hold of her arm and pulled her close. With a tiny cry of defeat, she fell limp and trembling against him, the fight in her totally spent. “I have nowhere to go,” she choked out softly. “But I can’t go back there. I can’t...”

  For a long moment he held her fast, not caring that the rain beat hard and cold against his back, drenching him to the skin. Then he made a decision, and in a swift motion he slipped an arm beneath her knees and lifted her like a child into his arms. He glanced about for some sign of the stallion, but the horse had long since disappeared. With a silent curse, he gave up hopes of finding the animal for the moment and hunched his back against the rain as he made his way toward home.

  To his relief, the house was empty when he finally reached it, the other officers having long since left to pursue an evening of pleasant diversion. A lamp had been left burning low in the front hall near the staircase, as was the custom. Drayton passed it without stopping, continuing up the stairs to his private quarters. He nudged the door closed behind him with his shoulder and rather brusquely deposited a soaking wet Ambrosia on her feet near the fireplace. A single arm shot out to steady her when she swayed precariously, but he released her just as quickly the moment she regained her balance.

  Turning his full attention to lighting a fire, Drayton quickly coaxed a tiny yellow-orange flame to curl about a small stack of kindling. He dropped a pair of thick, hardwood logs on the grate and watched for a time to be certain the logs had caught. He stared at the fire, unconsciously removing his belt and revolver and placing them on the floor, unbuttoning his rain-drenched cape, tunic, and shirt and peeling them off his broad shoulders. His mind was racing with a thousand questions. What was she running from? Why couldn’t she go home? And what in heaven’s name had made her so desperate that she would turn to him, a Yankee, for help? Not that she would ever be grateful, he reminded himself ruefully.

  He glanced up at her, noticing at once that she still shivered beneath the cloying folds of a wet cloak, that her jaw still quivered slightly with the chill, that her eyes were a deep, brooding gray, like a dark winter sky threatening snow. There was something very changed about her face, he thought as she continued to stare indifferently at the fire. He scowled as a tremor made her shoulders shake with cold and put his musings aside. He rose and went to the carved cedar chest at the foot of the bed, from which he withdrew a light woolen blanket. She looked up at him blankly when he offered it to her and winced when his impatient growl broke the silence. “Get out of those wet things before you catch your death of cold.’’

  She accepted the blanket with a mute nod, her strangely distant eyes meeting his for the barest moment before she stared at the floor. For a long time she stood there unmoving, the blanket clutched tightly in her hands. Drayton moved to the shadows of a far comer of the room and refrained from lighting a lamp. He turned his back to allow her some privacy. Moments passed.

  She heard the thud of first one boot dropping, then another, the distant rustle of wet clothing being removed, the slap of each garment as it hit the floor. At length the noises registered in her mind and spurred her into obeying Drayton’s order. She stepped away from the fire toward the protective shadows and laid the blanket over the arm of a chair before pulling shakily at the d
rawstring of her cloak. Her fingers were trembling so badly that it was several moments before the knot came loose. She shrugged it slowly from her shoulders and laid it carefully over the back of the chair. She turned toward the fire, the welcome heat of it causing her to shiver anew as her body struggled to regain its warmth. Lifting both hands to the back of her neck, she tried to work the buttons there. But the air in the room was chilled and her fingertips were still numb with cold. She fought an urge to cry as she pulled uselessly at the fastenings, her fingers slipping clumsily in spite of a concerted effort to hold them steady.

  Drayton took his time donning a dark blue woolen dressing gown, then he turned, momentarily forgetting his resolution to respect Ambrosia’s modesty. His eyes found her small trembling form in the shadows, her arms raised as she struggled in vain with the fastenings at the back of her dress. He drew a lengthy breath to strengthen his resolve before he crossed the room to help her. He was surprised when she offered not the slightest resistance.

  He brushed aside her still-damp hair and brusquely loosened the buttons at the nape of her neck and on down her back, steeling himself against the hunger that rose in him at the sight of her thin, feminine undergarments, at the feel of her cool, velvet skin against his fingers. He forgot himself for the slightest instant, and his hands slipped beneath the wet fabric at her shoulders and lingered there before he began to draw off her gown. His breath quickened. Ambrosia stood stock still, finding a strange sense of reassurance in his move, though she also knew a fearful uncertainty. A moment later, when he muttered something under his breath and tersely pulled away, she frowned in hurt confusion.