by Mary Ellis
Madeline took James’s elbow as they set off down the raised wooden sidewalk through town. But with each step, the confidence she had felt in Richmond flagged. Renting a room, arranging for my bath, and an intimate dinner by the fire—what expectations does he have? “I hope my bold decision to visit hasn’t given you an incorrect impression of me.” She tried to sound composed and not like a frightened child.
“I expect nothing other than to spend a few hours with you. If you’re hungry, we shall eat. If you feel talkative, I can listen for hours. If you’re neither, I will be content to simply remain in your presence for as long as you deem fit.”
“You talk like a scholar. Did you study rhetoric at West Point?” She tried unsuccessfully not to laugh.
Without warning, he clasped her wrist. “I talk like a man in love. You may not share my sentiments right now, but I came here to make my intentions clear. Upon receiving your letter, I became the happiest man on earth. I don’t plan to waste a single moment of our time together.” He released her as they stopped in front of a large, clapboard house.
“Is this where I’m staying tonight?” she asked, dazed by his confession. Her skin tingled where his hand had been.
“Yes. Go on inside, Madeline. Mrs. Lang is expecting you. I will join you for dinner in an hour. I have business to attend to at the telegraph office.” He handed her the valise, bowed, and turned on his heel.
As she climbed the steps to the boarding house, she couldn’t help feeling a thrill of excitement and a spike of trepidation.
James strode back to the center of town at a lively pace. He knew that General Meade could court-martial him for his actions. He had been given no authority to ride away from the Union winter camp after placing his chief of staff in charge. Though engagement with the enemy was highly unlikely, even a corps commander needed permission to leave his post. But sometimes a man had to risk his career for something… or someone… this important. He never would have believed it before, but meeting Madeline had changed everything for him. Now he had but a few short hours to change everything for her.
In Culpeper he sent telegraph dispatches to General Meade and two other corps commanders sharing the same valley less than twenty miles away: An urgent, unavoidable family emergency has occurred. A stretch of the truth, if not an outright lie, but James couldn’t dwell on his false witness at the moment. He needed to purchase flowers, a bottle of wine, another of cider, and perhaps a gift for his dinner guest. What did a man buy for the love of his life after she had traveled more than eighty miles, crossed enemy lines, and most likely severed relationships with her family to visit him?
Both the wine and cider were local brews. Regarding appropriate gifts for a lady, the shopkeeper who sold him the wine had only fabric and notions for sale. “I’m afraid there’s not much call for fans, combs, or fancy baubles in these parts, sir.”
When James inquired about flowers for sale, she stared at him. “In February? Come back in April and I’ll have my daughter pick you a handful.”
“Thank you, madam.” James paid the woman for the beverages and left quickly. He couldn’t wait to return to the inn and change his shirt. This one was sticking to his back despite the frigid temperatures.
Half an hour later he headed downstairs to the parlor, where he hoped a delicious supper awaited them. He imagined long tapers casting a soft glow, a roaring fire on the hearth, and an elegantly appointed table with silver and china. What he found instead was a rickety table without a covering, a few stubby tallow candles, and mismatched plates and cups. But at least a fire had been lit and the room was warm. James had little time to bemoan the arrangements.
Madeline came down the stairs and into the room a few moments later. “Oh, good, you’re here. I feared I would be first to arrive. The innkeeper keeps watching me from the corner of her eye as though unsure of me. What exactly did you tell her?” She spoke in a soft whisper.
James felt heat rise into his face. “That you were my sister from the South, and that arranging a wartime visit had been difficult.”
“Your sister?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“I dared not make the presumption of calling you my betrothed, yet I didn’t wish her to think poorly of your reputation.”
“I have no reputation in Culpeper, and I don’t plan to establish one.” She settled gracefully on one of the wooden chairs and smiled up at him. “What are you hiding behind your back?”
James set the two homemade concoctions on the table. “A bottle of local wine and another of apple cider. You may have your choice.” Tugging down his waistcoat, he settled across from her. The table had a definite tilt to one side.
“You should know, brother dear, that I don’t imbibe.” Madeline winked while fluffing out a patched cotton napkin.
“Of course, dear sister, but I thought you may have picked up a few bad habits in Richmond.”
Suddenly, the innkeeper marched in as though she had two flat feet, interrupting their repartee. “Here’s your supper, General Downing, Miss Downing.” She angled a brief nod in Madeline’s direction. “Hope it suits since food ain’t exactly gourmet in these parts.” The woman set down a kettle of food all of the same shade of brownish red.
“What have we here, Mrs. Lang?” James peered at the dish with little enthusiasm.
“That there’s beef, slowed-cooked with beets, tomatoes, and onions. All ends up the same color.” Mrs. Lang pulled a jar of green vegetables from her apron pocket. “These here are Brussels sprouts I pickled. Came out right fine, even if I do say so myself.”
James thanked her and then waited until she left before rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry, Madeline. I’d hoped for something a bit more… distinctive.”
Smiling, she ladled some of the concoction onto both plates. “Please don’t worry about it. I’m a country girl. I used to cook stews like this all the time. However, I would have pickled the beets with the sprouts and not simmered them with shanks of beef.” She spooned the vegetables into small bowls and popped one miniature cabbage into her mouth.
“How is it?” he asked, picking up a fork.
“Delicious. Be not afraid.” Madeline sampled a bite of meat. “Even the beef is good, tender and well-seasoned.”
“Perhaps you’re just hungry. As for me, I’m grateful the food is edible, but I had wanted to make this night memorable.”
“I didn’t travel to Culpeper for the cuisine, James.” She looked him in the eye without hesitation.
Her comment stopped his nervous chatter. For several minutes they simply enjoyed Mrs. Lang’s stew and pickled Brussels sprouts. After he got past the strange color, the taste wasn’t bad. “Shall we try some cider then, dear sister?” He uncorked the odd-shaped bottle and filled both cups.
Madeline took a hearty swallow, and then her eyes grew round as an owl’s. “Goodness! That cider has fermented into applejack.” She pressed her napkin to her mouth.
James hastily pulled the offensive bottle from the table. “Forgive me. I had no idea what she was selling me.”
Madeline moved her glass out of reach and folded her hands in her lap. “Of course you didn’t. Seeing your uniform, she probably assumed you wished something stronger. I suggest you stop fretting and enjoy your supper. We can drink the well water Mrs. Lang provided and be grateful.” Unexpectedly, she reached for his hand. Her touch was electric beyond words.
“A wonderful idea. Beef with beets is starting to grow on me. Perhaps you could obtain the recipe before we leave.” James would have held hands throughout the meal, but she squeezed his fingers and then withdrew her hand and resumed eating. When they finished, they sat like old friends savoring a moment of tranquility. Outside a cold February wind blew and rain pelted the windowpane, but next to the fire they were warm and utterly content.
“Thank you for arranging the meal. That was very thoughtful of you,” she said, finally breaking the silence in the room.
“We have no music to dance to and I don’t wish to read, despite the
Langs’ decent library.” He gestured toward a wall of books.
“What then do you have in mind, sir?”
Swallowing down what he truly wished to do, he pointed at a round table near the window. “I noticed the game had been set up when I arrived.”
Madeline pivoted around in her chair. “A chess board? But I don’t know how to play.”
“All the better, because then I have all night to teach you.”
The next morning dawned sunny and clear. The rain was gone and a brisk breeze smelled of spring still weeks away. James washed and dressed in an austere guest room, eager to see Madeline. He hoped she wouldn’t sleep too late. Last night’s chess game hadn’t yielded any new devotees, but it had provided hours to gaze on her lovely face and listen to the sound of her voice. Their time together was dwindling. Loping down the steps, he found the object of his affection calmly sipping coffee in the parlor.
“You’re finally up,” she said. “I feared you would sleep all day.”
“What? Forgive me for keeping you waiting. You should have sent the innkeeper to knock on my door.” The more excuses he made, the more flustered he became.
She smiled like a naughty child. “I’m teasing you, James. I arrived mere moments before you.”
He crossed the room to the coffeepot on the table. “Your sense of humor will require a brief period of adjustment.”
“I read in one of Eugenia’s periodicals that gentlemen prefer ladies who are unpredictable.”
“Then you, Mrs. Howard, will make me infinitely joyous.”
She blushed and pointed at the table. “Mrs. Lang put out corn muffins and fresh butter. And there’s a bowl of what looks like corn chutney. I’m feeling as though I never left Aunt Clarisa’s—corn, corn, and more corn.”
He lowered himself to a chair. “I assure you this feels nothing like winter camp for the Union Army.”
Madeline slathered a muffin with butter. “What plans do you have for us today?”
“How about a ride in the country? Not too far away. I don’t want to run into my own pickets.”
“On horseback? It’s still February.”
“The sun is shining and the day is mild. Besides, I have a surprise for you. Did you bring a riding habit?”
“I did.”
“Then finish eating and change your clothes. We’ll see what kind of horseflesh awaits us in the barn, sister dear.”
Madeline finished her muffin in two bites, downed her coffee, and rose to her feet.
“But you didn’t try Mrs. Lang’s corn relish.” James lifted the glass jar.
“I’ll save that pleasure for another time.” With a wink, she hurried from the room in a rustle of silk.
James stood at the mounting block holding the reins of his horse and a sleek mare when she appeared twenty minutes later. Madeline wore leather boots beneath her long skirt and a broad brimmed hat. Her hair hung in a single plait down her back. Although James expected her to be surprised, he didn’t expect a flood of tears.
“Bo!” She threw her arms around the mare’s neck. “Wherever did you find her, and what is she doing in Culpeper?”
“The cavalry quartermaster acquired her in Pennsylvania and recognized her as the same horse I came seeking after the first day’s battle. He gave her to me for my personal mount, but I only allow trusted staff to ride her on short errands.”
Madeline lifted her foot into the stirrup and mounted with ease and grace. “Thank you, James. I won’t ever forget this.” Grinning impishly, she shook the reins and took off down the street.
“But you so easily forget me?” he called after her. He swung up into the saddle, happy to finally return a jest in good measure.
When the road from Culpeper eventually turned into a narrow country lane, they headed across a meadow and then followed a rushing stream. Madeline, an accomplished equestrienne, had no trouble traversing the unfamiliar terrain. While they rode, the sun warmed their skin and not a cloud marred the crystalline blue sky. James couldn’t imagine a ride more singularly pleasurable.
“See that pine forest on the hill? I’ll race you to the top.” Madeline pointed one gloved finger. Without waiting for a response, she gave Bo a light kick and took off like a flash of lightning.
Although mounted on a larger, faster horse, James stayed behind her, content to watch her braid bouncing against her wool jacket. Once they reached the summit, a sunlit patch on the forest floor beckoned invitingly. “Shall we stop a moment?” he called.
Breathless, Madeline brought Bo to a halt. After slipping from the saddle, she tied her reins to a low branch. “I beat you, sir, fair and square.”
“To the victor go the spoils.” James dismounted and then pulled a wrapped parcel from his saddlebag.
Madeline was already reposing on her elbows in the clearing. “We’re in luck. These pine needles are dry. What have you brought me?”
“Apples and cheese.” He tossed her the parcel.
She set it aside. “Along with corn, that’s the usual fare in Richmond. What I wouldn’t give for a slice of strawberry pie.”
“Far better than hardtack and dried jerky.”
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful for Mrs. Lang’s or my aunt’s hospitality.”
“You didn’t. In fact, I doubt that you could.” He tugged off his gloves to feel the thick needles between his fingers.
“You flatter me, dear brother, but your praise has no basis.” Madeline laid back and focused to the patch of sky overhead. “It’s beautiful here. I may be tempted to linger for some time.”
Stretching out beside her, James savored the sun on his face after weeks of cloudy days. “If I didn’t long so much for home, this part of Virginia might appeal to me.”
Cupping her hands behind her head, she closed her eyes. “Let’s enjoy the peace and quiet for a while. It has been in short supply for both of us.”
But she didn’t remain mute for long. Sitting up abruptly, she pawed through the pine needles where she’d lain. “I felt something hard beneath my head. Here. What do you suppose this is?” She held up a silver medallion at the end of a long chain.
James examined the necklace in the dappled light. “It’s a Saint Christopher medal. Our Irish housekeeper had one just like it when I was growing up.”
“Beautiful, isn’t it? I’m not familiar with Saint Christopher.”
“He is the patron saint of travelers. Our housekeeper believed wearing one offered protection on long journeys.” James deftly slipped the heavy chain over her head, letting it fall against her dress. “There, my dear, now the good saint will keep you safe.”
“Do you think it will work for Episcopalians?”
“Only those as God-fearing and gentle as you.” Impetuously, he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.
“I wonder about the health of the person who lost it here.” His kiss, no different than one bestowed by her grandmother, sent shivers up her spine. Flustered, Madeline pressed the metal to her lips. “Goodness, James, the day grows colder by the minute. Since neither of us is hungry, let’s be off.” She scrambled to her feet and started back to where he’d tied the horses.
He grabbed the wrapped parcel of food and followed her. When he reached her side, he took off his frock coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Wear this for the ride back to town. I’m far more accustomed to the cold than you are.”
“Thank you. And thank you for recovering my horse, but I’m not sure what to do with her.” She mounted Bo as easily as she’d slipped off.
“Have no worries about her. I’ll keep her safe in camp with me.”
They set off in the direction they had come in a full gallop. Neither reined in their horse until reaching the inn in Culpeper. While they rode, Madeline slipped the newfound medallion into the breast pocket of his coat, buttoning it securely.
At the inn, he reached for her reins and dismounted his gelding. “When I return to our winter camp, where will you go? It’s not safe to
stay here. There are too many battles, too many skirmishes in this part of Virginia. Shall I arrange transportation for you to Philadelphia to the home of my parents?”
“No. I’ve decided to return to Richmond. It wasn’t my intention when I left, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“What on earth for? It’s even less safe there.”
“I can be of service in the Confederate capital.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“But the Duncans won’t trust you after coming here. They might assume you carried military information and have you arrested.” James took hold of her chin. “I cannot allow such dangerous behavior.”
Madeline jerked away from him. “You have no say-so in the matter, any more than my Uncle John. And goodness knows, he tried to prevent my trip here. In fact, you’re starting to remind me of Uncle John more and more.”
“Surely you have other relatives or friends up North. If not, why don’t you return to Cashtown? I can pay Reverend Bennett and his wife for your expenses until the war is over.”
She shook her head. “Certainly not, sir. I will not be kept by a man, whether in a preacher’s house or not.”
“Be reasonable, Madeline.” James gripped his hat between his fingers, the brim paying a dear price for his anxiety.
Her expression softened. “You risk your life every day to serve the Republic. A cavalry scout in Chimborazo Hospital told me you were shot near Remington. How is your wound?”
“My shoulder is just fine. It’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”
“Only by the grace of God was your life spared. The citizens of Richmond won’t hang me for visiting a beau in Culpeper.”
“What if I send for my adjutants and have you incarcerated? I would do almost anything to keep you safe.”
“I’ll be gone before your soldiers arrive.” She reached for his hand. “Try to understand, James. I’m not the same peevish woman you first met who fumed about horses trampling her hollyhocks. I’m loyal to the Union, and I have a right to help my country.”
Words escaped him—the irrefutable logic, the convincing argument that would change her mind. Wearily he hung his head.