Scarlet Leaves

by Sonya Birmingham

  He lifted her hand to his lips. "Chérie, have no fear that I will judge you. In my heart I hold you guiltless, above bourgeois morality. Being French, I understand these things." He smiled, his face full of good humor once more. "No wonder the man glowers at me so, and I now appreciate why you have refused my invitations. Your sense of loyalty only makes you more desirable in my sight." He brushed his warm lips over her hand again. "Don't give the matter another thought. Your secret is safe with me. I hold the confidence absolutely sacred."

  She felt as broken as a flower stem, so shaken she couldn't speak. Tears flooded her eyes. Fouche took her handkerchief and used the lacy bit of material to dab moisture from her cheek. "Shall we return to the carriage?" he suggested, his deceptively smooth voice edged with steel. He led her toward his smart carriage, waiting behind the iron fence edging of the park. Once through the gate, he handed her up to the leather seat with perfect courtesy, every aspect of his personality reflecting gentility.

  He acted as if nothing had happened, but deep inside Silky realized a dreadful event had taken place. If she could only relive the last few hours, she thought miserably, wishing she'd had the strength to refuse his invitation this afternoon. Somehow the Creole had managed to wheedle information from her about Petersburg, then turn around and discover the true bond between her and Taggart without her even admitting it.

  Heartsick and humiliated, she bowed her head, her throat aching with tears. She'd betrayed Taggart not once, but twice, she realized with piercing regret. And now, God help her, Fouche knew. He knew everything.

  Garbed in a Confederate uniform, Taggart sat back in the carriage taking him to the railroad station the next morning, his mind swimming with thoughts and problems. Things were heating up along the line. Grant was bringing in yet more troops from the Union base at City Point and stretching his defenses even farther, forcing Lee to respond in kind. But Lee was so desperately short of men he simply couldn't keep up, and it appeared the thinning Confederate line would soon snap.

  Taggart reviewed his personal life, thinking it was too bad it wasn't going as well. With a twinge of guilt he thought of the many hours he'd spent with Caroline, giving her bits of information for Grant, while Silky languished by herself at the Spotswood. Her association with Fouche concerned him greatly, and he desperately searched for a way to ostracize the man from her company. He recalled the afternoon Silky had accused him of seeing another woman. How pale and desperate she'd looked, and how he'd wanted to comfort her, but, not wanting to bring Caroline into the picture, he'd simply ignored the accusation and let the matter slide.

  He knew Silky might confront him again, and in the back of his mind he realized he needed to come up with some believable explanation for his absences, but with the war moving along so quickly now, he temporarily put the thought aside. At this point, both his life and his emotions seemed more tangled and out of control than he would have ever believed possible.

  A few minutes later his carriage creaked to a stop at the depot. He got out and, as he was paying the driver, he heard a hackney roll to a stop behind him. Turning, he saw a gentleman in civilian clothes step from the carriage and casually light a cigar. A burly man with gray hair and a bowler hat, he was apparently waiting for an arriving passenger, for he simply relaxed and took his time, puffing away on the cheroot.

  But when the gentleman shifted his keen gaze over Taggart, a strange feeling flooded the pit of his stomach. For a moment, the man just stood there watching his every movement, his eyes glittering like knife bladesthen at last he turned his head and looked away. Taggart wondered if the man was someone he'd met socially, perhaps at a holiday party, but he had a good memory for faces and to him the gentleman was a stranger.

  He suddenly realized the man might have been following him, and wondered if he was a Confederate agent. He and Silky had been in Richmond several months now, and perhaps someone in intelligence had decided to take a look at his daily activities.

  Then he reminded himself that for officers, three-month extended leaves were quite common in the Confederacy. He'd gone beyond that a bit, but he and Silky usually socialized with people attached to the medical service, a notoriously clannish group that paid little attention to what was going on in the rest of the army. On top of everything else, the Confederate command was so busy frantically fending off Grant's forces, they scarcely had time to notice one mere lieutenant who was chivalrously escorting a female cousin while she visited her brother.

  Taggart finally decided the man was simply a stranger who'd felt some impulse to give him the once-over, possibly because of the new uniform he was wearing when so many Confederate uniforms were now tattered and worn. No, he was making too much of the incidentletting his imagination get the best of him because he was under such pressure.

  Shaking off the eerie feeling that beset him, he strode away, deciding the man's lingering look meant nothing. He couldn't let himself get edgy now that he was making so much progress, now that a Union victory was so close. There was no doubt about itchange was in the wind, he told himself, walking toward the hissing train. The North was winning the war. Events were on the upturn. The question washow long would they stay that way?

  The next day Silky strolled down one of Chimborazo's corridors, carrying a stack of newspapers in her arms. Since her afternoon with Fouche, a kind of lingering guilt and depression had settled over her, seeming to sap the life from her very bones. Once or twice she'd thought of telling Taggart about her terrible mistake, but at the last moment her courage had always failed her. Trying to rationalize the horrible blunder, she told herself that if she had to reveal the secret, Fouche was the best person to tell. He was with the provost marshal's office and, as such, was used to keeping the secrets of the Confederacy. Still, the thought that she could have been so weak and careless filled her with a sharp guilt that stabbed repeatedly at her aching conscience.

  She paused at the entrance to Daniel's ward, trying to calm herself. Then from the other side of the door she heard Rebel yells. Startled, she entered the huge chamber and noticed many of the men were out of their beds, all stating in the same direction. It was then she spied Daniel, walking on crutches for the first time. Inspired by his courage, his wounded comrades cheered him on and shared his victory. It was a sight to stir the heart, and she felt her depression slip away like a heavy cloak.

  Abby was at Daniel's side, her slender arm about his waist, smiling and obviously encouraging him. Unaware that Silky was there, he hobbled to his bed and eased up on it, then handed the crutches to Abby, who sat down beside him, her face blazing with pride. Laughing, Silky walked to the foot of his bed, her heart soaring with happiness.

  As soon as he saw her, he blurted out, ''Did you see me walk? Did you see me? This was my first day, and I reckon I looked like a hobbled mule, but I'm bound to get better." A big grin shot across his face, making him look young and vital again. "I know I will."

  Silky placed the newspapers on a little table next to Daniel's bed, then bent to hug him, still aglow at his fine progress. "You were wonderful, just wonderful!" She turned to smile at Abby and discovered tears glistening in her large eyes.

  The girl rose and gave her a shy smile before returning her gaze to Daniel. "Well, I don't think you were wonderful," she remarked, her plain face beaming with love and making her beautiful. She took his big hand in hers. "I think you were magnificent." He blushed furiously, but, ignoring his embarrassment, she kissed him on the cheek. "I'll go so you can visit with your sister," she added, trailing her fingers over his face, "but I'll be back tomorrow to see you walk again."

  Silky watched the pair say their farewells, a lump of emotion tightening her throat. After Abby had gone, Daniel attempted to walk for her, trying with all his might to take even steps while they both laughed at his efforts. Finally, exhausted, he put down the crutches and sprawled on the bed, his face pale with the strain.

  Silky, who had told no one but Delcie that Taggart was seeing another wo
man, had intended to inform her brother today, but how could she mar his happiness with such depressing news? Let him have one day of pure joy, free from any worries or concerns, she thought with a rush of affection. They talked for a while longer, but knowing her work was waiting, she handed him the Richmond Examiner with a long sigh. "I brought you a paper, but I'm afraid you won't enjoy reading it."

  Daniel propped himself up on one elbow, devouring a headline that reported another Confederate defeat. "Yeah ... I know. Sherman is blazin' across Dixie like a roarin' fire," he responded in a flat, hollow voice. He threw the paper aside. "I'm satisfied we'll be gettin' precious little good news from now on."

  Then a pleased look gradually gathered on his face as if he'd just realized something important. "But think about it," he suggested, his voice now vibrant with hope. "With all the fightin', and starvin', and sloggin' through the cold rain, and burnin' up in the heatsomething good has come out of this old war." His eyes took on a soft, gentle look. "I met Abby. If that's all I get out of this war, I'll be satisfied, 'cause she's the best thing that ever happened to me."

  Silky stared at Daniel, thrilled he'd taken his first steps, and delighted he'd fallen in love. Then, pain pouring through her, she asked herself if she could make the same comment about Taggart. For a moment dozens of conflicting emotions tumbled through her mind. Was meeting Taggart the best thing that ever happened to her? In her heart she desperately wanted to say yes, but at last, facing a painful truth impossible to deny, she secretly had to admit that, at this point, she just couldn't decide.

  One day a week later, Silky looked through her bedroom window, watching Taggart talk to a carriage driver as he prepared to leave for an eight o'clock business appointment. Things had gone badly again this morning and her nerves felt as knotted and tangled as a snarl of embroidery thread. Would he come back late again, smelling of gardenia, and deflect all her questions with answers calculated to tell her nothing? Undoubtedly yes, she decided, her spirits sinking a little lower.

  She started to walk away from the window when she heard Delcie coming through the door. A few moments later, the girl was at her side, breathing heavily as she tossed off her ragged shawl.

  "Sorry I'm late, missy," she apologized, brushing back her tousled hair. "I overslept myself; then Jim had to have a bite to eat; then when I's comin' up to the room, Miz Wilson stopped me, askin' me if I had time to start fixin' her hair like I does yours."

  "Don't worry," Silky replied affectionately. "As you can see, I managed to dress myself." Preoccupied with her worries, she returned her attention to the window, noticing Taggart's hackney had high red wheels.

  Noticing what she was staring at, Delcie looked that way, too, her eyes growing large with interest. "That be Lieutenant Taggart gettin' in that carriage, ain't it?"

  Silky nodded and watched the hackney pull away from the hotel and clatter to the end of the block, only to be stalled by a long procession of soldiers and supply wagons. She picked up the front of her skirt to walk away, but Delcie clasped her arm to detain her.

  "Somethin' just flew into my head, missy," the girl confessed, mischief crackling in her eyes. "Them soldiers will keep that hackney there till us can get downstairs. Let's follow the lieutenant and see where he's goin'. Maybe us will get an answer to all them questions he don't answer."

  "Well, just let that idea fly right out of your head," Silky scolded, surprised she'd bring up such a thing. "Sneaking around like that wouldn't be right."

  With a frown, Delcie stiffly crossed her arms. "That don't make no never mind," she drawled, lifting her chin deftantly. "Us needs to see where that gentleman is doin' his work, comin' home smellin' sweet as gardenias every evenin'!"

  Silky started to protest yet again, but Delcie tightly clasped her arm and pulled her toward the door. Before she knew it, they were on the stairs, then in the lobby, drawing the attention of several elegant ladies. "No," Silky whispered, "this isn't right."

  Totally ignoring her, Delcie hustled her out of the hotel and into the fresh air. A hackney sat near the entrance waiting for a fare, and the girl opened the door, then shot a commanding gaze at the grizzled driver. "See that carriage with them red wheels? Well, follow it, but kinda hang back a little so's he won't know us is behind him."

  Silky made a last stance at the open carriage door. "We can't do this We can't"

  "Missy," Delcie declared, maneuvering her onto the seat, "you needs to find out about your man. You ain't eatin' right and you done almost worried yourself sick about all them secrets he's keepin'." She climbed in behind Silky and slammed the carriage door. "No need to be worryin' about doin' it," the girl informed her, flashing her eyes defiantly, '"cause us has done did it!"

  Silky drew back and widened her eyes. "I've never spied on a person in all my life. I feel about as sneaky as an eggsucking dog!"

  Delcie slid her a sly glance. "You ain't doin' this 'cause you wants to," the girl replied, patting her hand consolingly. "You is doin' it 'cause you needs to. Them are two different things."

  For fifteen minutes they wheeled through Richmond, the sound of the horses' hooves against the pavement resounding in their ears. Once Silky thought of banging on the carriage roof and ordering the driver to stop and return to the hotel, but at the last moment she held back, her growing curiosity winning out over her weakening pride. Delcie's insistence that they spy on Taggatt, she thought guiltily, had provided her with a perfect excuse to salve her throbbing conscience.

  Presently they entered a fine section of the city that boasted many leafy estates and trees whose gnarled limbs arched together over the streets. As they slowed for a corner, Silky noticed Taggart's hackney rolling to a stop in front of a great mansion on a hill. Delcie, seeing the same thing, cranked down her window and called up to the driver, "Stop here, so's they can't see us." Then, moving close to Silky, she peered from that side of the carriage. "Us will just see what that gentleman is up to."

  After Taggart spoke to the driver and entered the mansion, Delcie settled back and started talking. For the next half hour she rattled on constantly, and Silky's temples started to pound. When she thought she could stand it no longer, she started rolling down the window to call out to the driver herself. "I want to go," she blurted out, glancing at Delcie. "I feel like some common street woman, spying on her man."

  Delcie grabbed her hand. "Just a little longer, missy. I reckon he be comin' out any minute now."

  Silky sank back against the seat and closed her eyes. She longed desperately for the Blue Ridge, where everything was clean and sweet, and people were honest and a person didn't have to watch every word she said, afraid someone would use it against her. How low she'd sunk since she'd come to the flatlands, she thought with disgust. Here she was hiding around a corner like a sneak, spying on the man she loved.

  "There! There!" Delcie cried, shaking Silky's arm. "Look, comin' out that big front door!"

  Silky watched Taggart and a slender woman emerge from the mansion and pause on the porticoed porch. The darkhaired lady was fashionably dressed, but she stood at the threshold, shadows obscuring her face as Taggatt talked, moving his hands in an emphatic manner. After the conversation was over, the lady handed him a white envelope, which he put in his pocket. Then he walked briskly down the steps to his waiting hackney.

  When the woman moved into the sunlight, raising her slim hand in good-bye, Silky's heart lurched as she recognized Caroline Willmott. She suddenly recalled the evening at Dr. Cooke' s, associating the scent of gardenia perfume with Caroline. Of course, could it be anyone else? she thought, a tight pain centering itself in her bosom and threatening to cut off her breath. What a great fool she was! Who else did she expect? Taggart had been coming here not several times a month to work on the Chimborazo Benevolent Committee, but nearly daily recently. Her vision blurred, and a great weakness came over her, making her tremble. For a moment she thought she might faint, and she clutched a hand strap for support.

  Delcie narrowed
her eyes, peering at Caroline. "That lady be painted up real good, but I reckon she be kinda old," she remarked skeptically. As the red-wheeled carriage drove away, she excitedly asked, "Want to follow the lieutenant some more?"

  Silky waved her hand. "No, no. No more of this. Let's go back to the hotel," she answered, thinking she might be physically ill.

  Delcie spoke to the driver, and as he turned the hackney about, she caressed Silky's arm. "Now don't you be worryin' about a thing, missy," she ordered in a solicitous tone. "That old woman could take a bath in perfume and she'd still be too old for Lieutenant Taggart. She's just too old!"

  The words fell on deaf ears, for Caroline Willmott was still a gorgeous woman, and Silky had always been impressed with how regally she carried herself. A big lump lodged in her throat, for she remembered Taggart's privileged upbringingan upbringing that included all the things Caroline was so familiar with and she was not.

  By the time they'd reached the Spotswood, Delcie had calculated Caroline's age to be that of Methuselah, or Noah at least, in a vain attempt to right her mistake in insisting they follow Taggart. Heartsick, Silky tried to collect herself as she gave Delcie money to pay the driver, then rushed into the hotel, longing for the privacy of her room.

  "Good morning, my beautiful one. What is your rush?"

  Silky gasped as Fouche stepped in front of her, bowing his dark head in greeting. "I must make another short trip tomorrow, and I wanted to see you again before I left." His eyes filled with curiosity, he openly studied her face. "Whatever is the matter, chérie?"

  After the shock she'd received, Fouche's appearance destroyed Silky's fragile composure and she fought back stinging tears. Of all the people she could meet this morning, he was the worst, she thought miserably, the very worst! The Creole suggested they sit down, and, noticing people were staring at her, she let him escort her to a quiet corner, hoping to say a few words, then leave.