The Lady and the Officer

by Mary Ellis

  TWENTY-ONE

  JULY 1864

  Madeline enjoyed the warm sun on her back as she hoed weeds from between rows of potatoes, carrots, and beans. Aunt Clarisa had finally stopped insisting she not work in the garden like a field hand. The family needed to eat, and Esther and Micah could only do so much. Kathleen had been easily replaced with an emancipated slave who had come east from the Lynchburg area. The young woman’s husband had died during the winter from pneumonia, along with her son. But she’d given birth to a baby girl in March and desperately needed work to support the two of them.

  Aunt Clarisa said the sound of a baby would do them all good, even if she cried during the night. There had been too much death, too much misery for so long.

  But Patsy’s daughter, Abigail, almost never cried. And Eugenia happily stepped in as nanny when their maid needed a moment in the privy. Eugenia asked Patsy a bushel load of questions as though eager to learn the secrets of motherhood. Blessedly, Major Penrod received a staff position with General Beauregard. Although his letters were few and far between, Eugenia lit a candle at Saint Patrick’s each week and prayed for his protection not less than a dozen times a day.

  From Uncle John, Madeline learned that a fierce three-day battle was fought in June for control of Petersburg. The Yankees broke through Confederate trenches and might have taken the city if fighting hadn’t inexplicably stopped for the day. By morning Lee arrived with reinforcements and prevented disaster for his army.

  Instead, “disaster” continued in the form of a siege, with constant sharpshooter sniping and frequent skirmishes at the fieldworks surrounding the city. The prolonged siege cost lives on a daily basis and emptied the vast storehouses in Richmond. With disruption in the rail lines from the Carolinas and Georgia, the citizens of Richmond began to suffer. Any available food cost dearly.

  And so Madeline hoed, weeded, and plucked bugs from cabbage leaves. Later, she and Aunt Clarisa would pick apples and pears to bake or can, reserving the seeds to be planted where roses once grew. Those with the ability to grow food wouldn’t starve. The family wasted nothing and never complained if their diet contained creamed corn or tart applesauce every day. Madeline’s heart broke for those in refugee camps beyond the city, displaced whites and freed blacks seeking jobs from people with few resources to pay salaries.

  That afternoon, Micah entered the kitchen as Madeline, Patsy, and Esther were pitting sour cherries to make into jam. Because Uncle John had sold his horse and carriage to a visiting banker from Canada, both men walked everywhere they needed to go. Uncle John had mourned the loss of his favorite gelding, but the proceeds would keep the family in cheese, eggs, and milk, with occasional meat or fish, for at least six months.

  “Where on earth have you been with that?” Esther pointed at the large basket that Micah returned to the ceiling hook.

  “To the market, of course. I wanted to see if anything had been left when folks packed up. Sometimes they leave behind bruised fruits and vegetables free for the taking.” He rolled up his sleeves to wash at the hand pump.

  “And was there?” asked Esther.

  “No, not so much as a moldy grape.” The butler cast Madeline an odd look despite the fact she hadn’t been the one asking the question.

  Esther snorted. “I could have told you it would be a waste of time. You went too late in the afternoon.”

  “With less produce, the merchants sell out and pack up earlier these days,” Eugenia added, using her newly acquired habit of observation.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Micah nodded at Eugenia, but focused on Madeline as he dried his hands.

  That evening, after they had eaten and washed the supper dishes, Madeline went in search of the enigmatic butler. Micah usually was as straightforward as a judge, so his strange behavior earlier had unnerved her. She found him in the garden whittling sharp points on several long sticks.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Howard. I thought I would go fishing in the river shallows tomorrow. Maybe I can spear some shad or trout if I don’t catch anything with my hook and line.”

  “You found no fish today down on the docks?”

  Again Micah angled an expression supposed to mean something, but Madeline had no idea what that was.

  “I heard they sold their catch to the army sutlers. All Captain George had left was some shrimp not fit to use for bait. And I have been able to dig up night crawlers now that Mrs. Duncan keeps ripping out flower gardens to plant vegetables.” Micah folded his pocketknife and tucked it into his pocket.

  “You saw Captain George?” Unable to control her excitement, Madeline glanced over her shoulder at the door.

  “I did. I tried selling him some bait, but he had all he needed.”

  “What a shame. I’m sure you and Esther are trying to put aside a little money for the future with life so uncertain in Richmond.” Madeline tightened the shawl around her shoulders, the breeze cool with the sun having set.

  Micah straightened to his feet and stood less than a foot away. “Captain George sends his regards to you, Mrs. Howard. He asked me to give you this.” He withdrew a folded envelope. “He said no charge for delivery and that you two are even.”

  Madeline quickly hid the letter under her shawl. “Thank you. I’m grateful for your discretion.”

  “I don’t know what you’re up to, ma’am, but this is the last time I want to be involved.”

  “I understand.” Madeline reached for his hand. “I’m indebted to you, Micah.”

  He stared at her for a moment and then clasped her fingers between his. “I suppose you are. Let’s hope something’s biting in the shallows tomorrow. I have a taste for fresh fish dipped in egg and cornmeal and fried up in hot bacon fat.” He was already on his way to the carriage house.

  Despite how delicious that sounded, Madeline couldn’t think about food as she climbed the back steps two at a time. Once she was within the private confines of her room, she extracted the sheet filled with James’s slanted script. Holding the paper close to her nose, she inhaled the quintessentially male scent of shaving balm and tobacco as her heart pounded with anticipation.

  Dear Mrs. Howard,

  With his salutation Madeline’s exuberance slipped a notch.

  Recently I was shown a photograph of a Confederate colonel, Elliott Haywood, and yourself taken at a Richmond social event not long after your return from Culpeper. Although I was reluctant to believe your affections could have changed in so short an interval, I held proof of your newfound joy in my own hand.

  I must surmise this infatuation began prior to your trip to my winter camp. Could this Elliott Haywood be the reason you stayed such a short time? Although I feel foolish over my relentless pursuit of you, I regret nothing I said or did during our acquaintance. You possess a gentle soul with a resilient spirit. I had so yearned to spend my life with you. Because your heart belongs to another, I pray Colonel Haywood keeps you safe and far removed from the horrible privations that war brings.

  I respectfully withdraw my petition and wish you much happiness in life.

  James A. Downing

  SEPTEMBER 1864

  Madeline applied the fan so vigorously that the stiff paper novelty snapped in half. Festooned with bizarre Chinese symbols, the gift from Justine Emerson was no match for the stifling heat of late summer. If only a breeze picked up or a thunderstorm blew in from the ocean—anything that would break the city’s relentless humidity. Just as Madeline was about to stick her head in the horse trough, her cousin skipped into the garden wearing a fresh cotton dress and broad smile.

  “Good afternoon, Maddy.” Eugenia chirped like a sparrow.

  “Good afternoon, although I find little good about it. It must be one hundred degrees even in the shade.” After Madeline had slumped against the chaise, Eugenia planted a kiss on her forehead.

  “Don’t be cross, dear cousin. Why don’t you help plan my spring wedding? That should help pass the afternoon until supper.” She perched on the edge of her chair.
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  Madeline bolted upright. “Did Major Penrod propose in a letter? He hasn’t been here in weeks.”

  Eugenia glanced around the courtyard for eavesdroppers. “No, he hasn’t, but I have a feeling he’ll be home soon. And the first words out of his mouth will be: ‘Miss Eugenia, will you honor me by becoming my bride?’ ” She spoke in a deep baritone voice with her hand positioned over her heart.

  Madeline chuckled despite her bad mood. “You truly do sound like him. But Joseph coming home soon may be wishful thinking by a woman in love.”

  “Au contraire, m’petite.” Eugenia offered one of the few French phrases she learned in finishing school. “I heard Papa tell Mama the war will soon be over. It’s practically a foregone conclusion.”

  Madeline stopped tearing the broken fan into shreds. “A victory for which side?”

  “For the Confederacy, of course, with all due respect to your late husband’s memory.” Lowering her eyelashes, Eugenia patted Madeline’s hand.

  “Thank you, sweet girl, but perhaps Uncle John was expressing his hopefulness. Surely morale must be low at the war department.” Madeline resumed mutilating the paper fan.

  “I don’t think so. Papa read in a Washington newspaper that Northern sentiments have turned against General Grant. People are fed up with their boys dying for no good reason.”

  “What people, Genie? There always will be pacifists against war, no matter what principles are involved.”

  “I’m not talking about Quakers and such. These rabble-rousers are called Copperheads—what an odd name. According to the report, they are rioting in the streets in New York and Ohio. The Copperheads demand that Lincoln recognize the Confederacy and schedule peace talks. If your president refuses, they’re encouraging Union soldiers to desert.” Eugenia plucked a flower off the bougainvillea bush. “That isn’t wishful thinking if it was in a Yankee newspaper.”

  Madeline stared speechlessly at her cousin for several moments before gathering herself and saying, “That will never happen, Genie. President Lincoln promoted General Grant over other commanders and gave him full control.”

  “Then Lincoln will lose the election in November most assuredly. A democrat in the White House will bring this nasty business to a swift close.” Eugenia smiled politely to soften her words.

  “Uncle John actually said this to your mother?” Madeline had never heard Eugenia talk about anything other than ball gowns and local gossip.

  “Indeed he did. Maybe Joseph will be home by Thanksgiving, Mr. Lincoln’s new federal holiday. I’m certain Mama will throw a grand Christmas party so we can announce our engagement. Then we can be married in the spring.” Eugenia began waltzing around the courtyard as though at a ball. “I do hope babies arrive right away, because I’ve absolutely fallen in love with little Abigail.”

  So like Eugenia to turn the conversation back to herself within five minutes, Madeline thought uncharitably. “Will you please sit down? How can you dance when I can barely breathe in this heat?”

  The girl ceased celebrating an assured Confederate victory, along with her promising future. “I beg your pardon, Maddy. Since you came home, I’ve been hoping you would remain with us forever.”

  Home? Remain with us? How can I possibly forfeit a lifetime commitment to freedom without slavery or repression? “The fact my former beau and I parted ways doesn’t mean I won’t return north after the war. Pennsylvania will always be my home, Genie.”

  “I understand that your friends are there, but promise me you’ll at least stay for my wedding.”

  Her annoyance faded, leaving Madeline with nothing but pity for her cousin. “Of course I’ll be here for that.”

  Eugenia perched on the edge of Madeline’s chaise. “Will you stand by my side as matron of honor?”

  “What about Justine? Don’t you think you should ask her?”

  “I want you both—maid and matron.” Without warning, large tears flooded Eugenia’s eyes and streamed down her face. Her emotions had swung like a pendulum to the other side.

  Madeline pulled her into her arms and patted her back. “I would be honored to stand up with you. You have my word I’ll be here, but please don’t get too far ahead of yourself. The siege drags on at Petersburg. General Grant hasn’t surrendered yet.”

  “He must give up soon because he won’t have any soldiers left. Didn’t you hear about the crater? Yankees built a tunnel under our trenches, and filled it with gunpowder to blow a hole in our line. Grant ordered his troops to charge. They jumped into the hole but couldn’t get out the other side. Papa said it was like shooting fish in a barrel—”

  “Enough, Eugenia!” Madeline stood up so fast her cousin landed in a heap of petticoats on the flagstones. “I don’t care if your precious army wins tomorrow, but I don’t want to hear another word about it. You should be ashamed of yourself. Gloating over boys suffering and dying isn’t very Christian.” Her breath came in gasps even as she tried to rein in her own emotions. “You should light a candle at Saint Patrick’s in petition to be delivered from your bloodlust.”

  Eugenia gazed up from her undignified position in shock at her cousin’s vehemence, her hoop askew.

  In a fit of rage from months of wanting to serve her country but not being able to do so, fueled by the dismissal from the man she loved, Madeline ran down the path toward the street. Heedless as to her destination, she kept going until she doubled over with a painful side stitch. Cobblestones pressed through the thin soles of her slippers to bruise her feet. But who remembered to wear sensible boots when they stormed away from everything despised and loved at the same time? Her life had become a quagmire of deception with no one to blame but herself.

  Lately, during weak moments, she had actually entertained thoughts of Colonel Haywood. He would return from the battlefront—either victorious or conquered—to rescue her from her Richmond existence. He would take her to his country estate, where she could plant a garden and raise horses again. Not as the indolent mistress of a vast plantation surrounded by servants, but as a simple farmer’s wife. Then she would forget holding the hands of wounded men with the coppery stench of death filling her nostrils. Colonel Haywood had been the only soldier she saved in Gettysburg. The hopelessness and futility of war would continue to haunt her forever.

  But moments of imagining a future with Colonel Haywood would soon pass, replaced by the visage of James. A man not quite as handsome… an officer nowhere near as polished or cultured… yet infinitely more appealing to her. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, yet she’d destroyed his passion by pretending to be someone she was not.

  Eventually, Madeline slowed her pace but kept walking. Her anger with Eugenia had already evaporated. How could she blame her cousin for the way she had been raised? Everything she’d been taught and the future she yearned for was dependent on a Southern victory. Madeline was sick of it all—both sides eager to kill each other in cruel ways; both armies praying for God to grant them victory. Both sides discovering God seldom takes sides in a war.

  With her dress sodden with sweat and her feet cut and dirty, Madeline arrived at the gates of the city market. No vendors displayed vegetables or smoked hams today. With food tightly rationed, produce booths were set up only three times per week. Fishmongers appeared seldom more than every other Wednesday due to the naval blockade. Nevertheless, something she couldn’t name drew her like a siren’s call. Madeline crawled under the gate, tearing her hem on a sharp stone, and headed straight for the wharf, where boats bobbed in shallow water. With the tide out, she descended a ladder to reach the dock. Blessedly, the Bonnie Bess had sailed into the Richmond harbor.

  “Captain George,” she called, fearful of being heard by other boatmen. “May I come aboard? It’s Mrs. Howard.”

  The grizzled sea captain stuck his white pate out a porthole. “Madeline, my girl. What a lovely surprise. Climb down, but mind your step.” His head disappeared briefly and then reappeared in the hatch of the freshly scrubbed deck.


  Madeline lifted her skirt with one hand while holding the ladder with the other.

  “To what do I owe this rare pleasure? If it be seafood you’re after, I’m afraid I’m plum out. The fish managed to stay away from me nets and lines this week.” The captain’s pleasant expression vanished when he noticed her deplorable appearance. “Come now, what befell ya on the way to the docks?” George steered her to a bench in the stern. “Did you have to outrun one of those thievin’ scalawags? That sort would steal gold from a dead man’s teeth if the undertaker turned his back long enough.”

  Madeline grimaced at the mental image. “No, sir. I ran pell-mell solely from myself.”

  “Ahhh. That can be the trickiest to outmaneuver. Care for a nip?” He pulled a silver flask from his pocket. “It’s rum from the West Indies, the finest available in this hemisphere. After one or two swigs you’ll forget your woes.”

  She sniffed the bottle and handed it back. The vapors alone could inebriate the unsuspecting. “A couple of swigs and I wouldn’t find my way home.”

  “Would that be so bad? Why not stow away on the Bonnie Bess down to Fort Monroe? You could catch a passenger transport headed up the Chesapeake and spend the rest of the war in Annapolis or Baltimore. Make a fresh start.”

  Madeline laughed without humor. “I don’t know anyone in Maryland, and I have no money and few useful skills other than breeding and raising horses.”

  “Perhaps you could nurse in Washington—either Armory Square or Campbell Hospital on Seventh Street.”

  She covered her face with her hands. “No, Captain. I have no stomach for blood.”

  “That would present a problem. Maybe a cook then. Those fancy hotels are filled with speculators and journalists circling around like buzzards.”

  “I was a wife who prepared simple country meals without a shred of culinary training.” Madeline shook her head and sighed deeply. “I have no choice but to return to my uncle’s home.”