The Lady and the Officer

by Mary Ellis

  Clutching her husband’s note to her bodice, Clarisa closed her eyes and swayed on her feet. “He’s coming home. We’ll leave Richmond together. Thank You, Lord.”

  Within several hours, the women and household staff finished packing. Only essentials necessary for survival would be taken, such as cooking pots, warm blankets, and food. Clarisa and Madeline packed small valises to allow Eugenia the extra space. Esther, Micah, and Patsy filled pillowcases with their belongings to string over their backs. That night, everyone ate a hearty supper in the kitchen and went to bed early, except for Clarisa.

  She waited up for her husband in the parlor, finally dozing off after midnight. When she awoke, she saw John’s lined face looming above her. “I’m so relieved to see you!” she said, pulling him down beside her to hug him with all of her might.

  “Take care, dear wife. I have thus far escaped injury.” John hugged her fiercely in return.

  “Should I awaken the household?” She buried her teary face against his jacket.

  “No, let everyone sleep. We’ll leave shortly after dawn.” John drew back the curtain to reveal darkness beyond the window.

  “Then you should rest. Come upstairs.”

  “If you will indulge me another minute, we need to talk.”

  “What has happened?” she asked softly, her gut tightening with anxiety.

  “I heard today that the militia arrested a Chesapeake fisherman. Apparently, the man had been passing documents to Yankees up the coastline.”

  His grim expression turned her mouth dry. “Go on,” she prodded.

  “This sea captain had on his person a letter from our niece addressed to that Union general she went to see. I’m afraid the letter incriminates Madeline.” John reached for Clarisa’s hand. “I fear for her, my love. Tempers are short. Everyone in the war department is looking for someone to blame.”

  She gripped the back of a chair. “She’s my niece, John. I must protect her at all costs. I won’t have her sacrificed for a stupid mistake—one she deeply regrets.”

  The lines in her husband’s forehead and around his mouth deepened. “There is truth to the allegations?”

  She nodded. “Some truth, I’m afraid.”

  “Then I made the right decision.”

  “What have you done?” Clarisa’s knees threatened to buckle beneath her.

  John offered a supporting arm. “I sent word to Colonel Haywood in Petersburg. Grant has broken through their lines and General Hill has been killed.” His voice cracked with emotion. “With Union artillery firing on Petersburg, our soldiers are in a westward rout. President Davis has ordered Petersburg evacuated, as well as Richmond. Anyone not wishing to live under the thumb of the federal army must leave. We packed up critical government documents and took them to the station. Invalid soldiers will work through the night destroying documents we don’t want to fall into Yankee hands.”

  “But what can Colonel Haywood do for Madeline with the army in retreat?” Clarisa lowered her voice to whisper as though reluctant to utter such words aloud.

  “Perhaps nothing, but I told him where we’ll head tomorrow. If there’s anything he can do to help Madeline, I believe he will.” John led her toward the door with a supportive arm. “Now we must rest, my love. Our future is in God’s hands.”

  The next morning the Duncans awoke to a world gone mad. Civilians loaded down with everything they could carry crowded the streets. No one seemed to know the safest route or where they would go once they were beyond the city. Most headed to the depot, where every available train car had been brought south from Fredericksburg. Doors to the quartermaster and commissary storehouses had been thrown open. The half-starved people of Richmond rushed in and hauled away whole hams, along with sacks of coffee, sugar, and flour—items meant to be rationed for months. If a storekeeper no longer guarded his door, men and women broke in and looted whatever they could carry. Bolts of fabric, piles of dresses, and stacks of hat boxes filled a parade of passing wagons.

  The Duncan family and their employees flanked the carriage as John fought to control the skittish horse down Forsythia Lane. Only Patsy and Abigail rode next to him. Clarisa insisted on walking with Eugenia and Madeline for as long as possible.

  “Where are we going, Papa?” asked Eugenia, unusually subdued.

  “We shall head east toward the naval yard and Rocketts Landing, and then follow New Market Road. Everyone else will head south along the Richmond and Danville rail line. Our boys have been ordered to set fire to the bridges, so other routes will soon be blocked.”

  “East? Won’t that be where the fighting will commence?” Clarisa couldn’t help but ask. “We don’t want to blunder onto a battlefield.”

  “Rest easy, my love. The bulk of both armies is well south of Richmond, so there’ll be no fighting today. Besides, it’s not Yankees we need to fear.” Though both of John’s hands were occupied with the reins, his sidearm was visible and close by. Micah, armed with a shotgun, followed behind the group, vigilant for approaching threats from the rear.

  “Then who?”

  “Deserters from either side, profiteers who came south to pick our bones, or those hatchet-wielding trollops—a full assortment of ruffians who would love a horse and carriage to carry their bounty.”

  Clarisa shivered, unaccustomed to such bluntness. John normally tried to shield her as much as possible from anything unpleasant. For several hours she plodded along the streets toward one of the bridges across the James River. This would be their best and perhaps only means of escape. Esther and Patsy gathered discarded items along the way from those lightening their loads. Clarisa clung tightly to the tarnished brass rail of the carriage like a frightened child. Only Madeline kept pace without complaint, always within reach of the horse’s bridle. When they reached the river, she clambered down the hillside for a bucket of water for the horse, a chore repeated at each stream they crossed.

  While the thirsty mare drank, the sudden sound of explosions louder than any clap of thunder froze them in their tracks. Everyone turned back toward Richmond to watch a red glow spread like a stain across the horizon.

  “Is that artillery fire?” asked Madeline, staggering against the buggy wheel. “Are the Yankees firing on the city?”

  “No, dear niece.” John patted her shoulder. “That is the Confederate Army setting fire to the munitions and tobacco warehouses. The Yankees don’t need cannons to take Richmond, not anymore. They know our troops have abandoned the capital.”

  Horrified, Clarisa watched flames leap ever higher against the darkening sky. Fire spread from building to building along the riverfront. Thick, billowing smoke filled the air and drifted on the breeze, reaching them within minutes. “Will the whole city burn, including our home?” she asked, choking down the taste of bile.

  John shook his head. “I don’t know, but we are alive and safe. Climb up here, dear heart. Patsy insists on walking.”

  Clarisa did as instructed, grateful for his suggestion. Her flimsy boots hadn’t been designed for long treks. For hours the carriage rolled along the rutted turnpike, encountering fewer pedestrians the farther they journeyed.

  Finally, John brought the carriage to a stop and set the brake. Handing his wife the reins, he climbed down and said, “Micah, I want you to stay with the carriage and guard the women. Madeline, I would like you to come with me. We need to find a dry place to spend the night.”

  “Where are we?” She peered up at the bronze cross atop a wooden steeple.

  John gazed skyward too. “We’ve reached Laurel Hill Church. With the grace of God, Colonel Haywood will find us here.”

  “Colonel Haywood?” said Madeline. “Why on earth would he come here?”

  “As a member of President Davis’s staff, I cannot take you closer to Union lines than this. If anyone can deliver you safely to General Downing’s protection, it would be Colonel Haywood.”

  “Oh, Uncle, I am grateful, but your idea is hopeless. You have done enough. I will set
off alone at first light so I don’t endanger your family.”

  John put his arm around her and drew her tightly against his side. “For now, let’s select seven pews for our beds for the night. Then we shall see what the morrow brings.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Colonel Haywood gazed down on seven sleeping people in the plain, country church. With only moonlight shining through high clerestory windows, it was difficult to ascertain who was who. Silently, he crept up the aisle, finally stopping at one particularly rounded form. Without a doubt, beneath the tattered quilt lay Mrs. Howard, a woman he’d hoped to spend the rest of his life with. Her signature scent of lemon verbena still clung to her clothes and hair despite an arduous trip from the capital.

  Elliott settled on the adjacent pew, rested his head on his folded arms, and watched her sleep. Dozing off and on, he would wake with a start unsure of where he was or what he was doing. Then he remembered why he was outside of New Market, within a few miles of the Union Army. He was preparing to deliver the woman he loved into the arms of the enemy. Elliott forced away the end result and concentrated on his motivation—a life for a life, along with the request by a man he respected—John Duncan.

  I am a fool, or perhaps addled by too little food, too little sleep, and too much killing. Soon all that bloodshed would be for naught. With a sigh Elliott closed his eyes against images that would remain etched in his brain for the rest of his life.

  “Colonel Haywood?” A soft voice roused him from his reverie.

  “Ah, Mrs. Howard, you’re awake.” He scrubbed his face with his hands to banish the last of his drowsiness.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” she whispered.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve ridden to your rescue—your knight in shining armor. Alas, my steed is dark brown instead of pure white,” he also whispered as he offered her his most sincere smile.

  She glanced around the church interior. “You’ve come alone? Have you lost your mind?”

  “Affirmative, on both counts. I’ve just drawn the same conclusion.” Elliott rubbed the small of his back, which ached from the position he had slept in. Then he stood and gestured to the back of the church, where they could speak quietly without waking the others.

  “I don’t need to be rescued. You must return to your division at once.” Her eyes filled with pity. “I’m fine with my aunt and uncle.”

  “Your bravery is commendable, but if Confederate authorities catch up with your troupe, you will be in grave danger. And if Mr. Duncan attempts to deliver you closer to Union lines, he would be in danger.”

  “I don’t understand,” Madeline said softly as she swung her legs off the pew and straightened her skirt to cover her ankles.

  He sighed and then whispered, “Captain George has been arrested, and the Bonnie Bess was confiscated by our navy. Apparently, he was carrying a letter from you to the commander of the fourth corps. However, your letter to him discovered on a known Yankee spy places you in a precarious position.”

  “Lord, have mercy.” Madeline scrambled to her feet, staggering a step. “I must leave the Duncans right away so they aren’t implicated.”

  “Easy, Mrs. Howard.” He tried steadying her with a firm grip.

  She shrugged off his hand and moved as quietly as she could to the back of the church before speaking again. “Why are you here? To deliver me to the war department to answer for my crimes?”

  “You think I would betray the woman who saved my life? I don’t care if you were on a mission to steal gold from the Richmond Treasury.”

  Her eyes grew round as an owl’s. “You will help me after I treated you cruelly?”

  “A life for a life, but there is no time to discuss sentimental gestures. We have a long ride ahead of us if I’m to get you away.” He handed her one of his saddle bags. “Inside are some clothes. Take off your skirt and hoop and put them on. They should fit over your other… garments.”

  She withdrew the butternut jacket, trousers, and cap. “The uniform of a Confederate soldier?”

  “How better to blend in? I’m hopeful that neither side will shoot at the insignia of the medical corps. You’ll have to hide your hair under the cap.”

  Madeline fingered the red crossed lines that had been painted boldly on the fabric.

  “If we’re stopped along the road, let me do the talking. I’ll say I’m delivering my mute cousin to the nearest field hospital. Your accent may give us away. I would hate to end an illustrious career in so inglorious a fashion,” he smiled ruefully at her as he tugged on his gloves.

  “Thank you for your gallantry and forethought.” Madeline began unfastening the row of buttons on her bodice and then hesitated.

  When she stood motionlessly, Elliott’s patience waned. “Be quick, Mrs. Howard. We have a long ride to get you out of harm’s way.”

  “Could you turn your back, sir?” she asked shyly.

  “Oh. Of course. I’ll wait outside. You may have a few minutes to say goodbye.” He felt a blush climb up his neck as he strode from the dark church. Outside, the first pink streaks of dawn appeared.

  Just as his patience ran out, the entire entourage of Duncans and longtime staff emerged from the sanctuary. A scrawny youth walked with Eugenia, his trousers held up with a length of twine. With a jolt, Elliott recognized Mrs. Howard. All of her thick blond hair had been tucked under the cap. “Step lively, soldier, and I expect a dutiful salute.”

  “Wearing this scratchy wool will prove hardship enough, Colonel. Please don’t expect much military precision.” Madeline glanced around the churchyard while her family closed in, each one silent and morose. “Did you bring only one horse, sir?”

  “No others could be spared. But he’s a sturdy beast, capable of carrying both our substantial weights.”

  Madeline angled a wry frown at him, tied her cloth valise to the saddle, and turned to her family.

  “I shall miss you, Maddy.” Eugenia hurried forward, despite the prancing hooves of the horse.

  “And I, you. I will make every human effort to return for your wedding,” Madeline said as she hugged her cousin and then kissed her cheek. “Good bye, dear aunt and uncle. I am in your debt.” Her luminous blue eyes were shiny with tears as her aunt enveloped her in a last embrace.

  “And my wife and I are in yours, Colonel Haywood. Thank you.” Mr. Duncan reached out his hand.

  Elliott shook and then tipped his hat to Mrs. Duncan. “Someday I’ll collect my reward at your dinner table, ma’am. Goodbye.” Swinging up into the saddle, he held out his hand to assist Mrs. Howard up behind him. He was immediately assaulted by her lemony scent, while her soft curves beneath the private’s uniform pressed against his back.

  “Goodbye,” she called as the horse trotted down the trail. “I’ll never forget all that you’ve done.”

  Elliott knew the back roads west of Richmond and thus avoided the thoroughfares where Confederate pickets might be posted or Union detachments of cavalry might patrol. He stayed on farm traces and trails that connected towns too small to appear on Virginia maps. While they rode he tried concentrating on the scenery—rich fields ready for planting, the canopy of new green leaves, and the cacophony of birds singing in the trees. But try as he might, he couldn’t keep his mind off the woman clinging to his midsection. A wisp of her hair across his neck, the press of her leg next to his, her warmth radiating through the threadbare jacket—all conspired to entice him like a moth to a flame.

  It will be a long ride, indeed.

  When they paused beside a shallow stream around midday, Madeline pulled bread, a block of cheese, and two shriveled apples from her valise. “My aunt insisted I take some food.” She offered half the provender in her outstretched hand.

  Elliott gazed at her slender fingers and delicate wrist, the curve of her hips beneath trousers, and felt palpable desire. He stood motionless, paralyzed by the forbidden fruit.

  “What are you staring at, Colonel?”

  Elliott grabbed an apple fr
om her palm. “Seeing you without one of those ridiculous hoops. It’s been a long time. I’ll bet you welcome your release from bondage.”

  “I do, but it’s unusual for a man to recognize those uncomfortable tormentors for what they are.”

  “I’m not like most men.” The statement hung in the warm spring air.

  “I’ve recently discovered that.” With a blush she averted her gaze.

  “Yes, well, thank you for lunch, however, this might be the last grass not ravaged by the cavalry—one or the other.” Taking a large bite of apple, Elliott led his horse to a thick patch. But when he turned around the object of his affection stood behind him.

  “May I know where we’re going?” She peered up at him through impossibly thick eyelashes.

  “We’re headed to the Namozine church. It should be south of the Confederate exodus from Richmond and with any luck, north of the Yankees reconnoitering from Petersburg. But we must reach the rendezvous point by nightfall, so eat up.”

  For hours they rode at a gentle pace so as to not overtire the horse. Just when he sensed she might fall from the saddle from exhaustion, Elliott spotted a familiar landmark in the distance. “Wake up, Mrs. Howard. We had better walk from here.”

  She slipped from the saddle clumsily. Getting used to being on her feet again, she peered around the scrub brush and briar patches as though expecting recognition. “Have we reached our mysterious destination?” she whispered.

  “We have. Keep quiet and remain behind me. If anyone shoots first, perhaps you’ll live long enough to answer their questions.” Elliott stumbled along the rutted path but kept a tight grip on the reins and her small hand.

  The trail led down to a well-hidden river ford, used primarily by local farmers to move livestock to pastures downstream. He had known of this crossing for some time and expected it to be unguarded. The far bank, shrouded by thick foliage and vines, looked steeper than the one in front of them. Pulling Madeline behind a mountain laurel bush, he issued a mediocre imitation of a hoot owl.