by Linda Swift
"My Quaker stepmother taught me. I could teach you."
"Angeline?" Devon took her hand, looked at her hopefully. "Why are you saying all this?"
"Because I—because..." She dropped her head and wouldn't meet his intense green eyes.
"Because you care for me as I care for you?"
Angeline nodded, still not looking at him. Devon took her chin in his hand and raised her face until their eyes were level.
"Oh, my darlin’, can it really be true? Can you love a simple man like me?"
"Yes, Devon. And you're not simple. You're brave and kind and you make me laugh. And you have the most beautiful voice I have ever heard."
He took her face in both hands and kissed her mouth softly and when she closed her eyes, he kissed the lids tenderly and then returned to her lips. Her arms slid around his neck and he pulled her closer until her breasts were brushing against the front of his open coat.
After a long while, he broke away breathless and asked her in a solemn voice, "Will you marry me, sweet Angel?"
She sat up suddenly and looked at him with dread. "Devon, there's something..."
"Go on, luv." When she still didn't speak, he tried to make it easy for her. "Is it that you care for me, but you could never marry the likes of me? If it is, I'll just be grateful for what—"
"No," she stopped him with a painful cry. "It's not that at all. It's just that—that—" She couldn't make herself tell him that she was engaged to Nathan Forsythe and see his hurt. "I'm not sure my sister will approve of my marrying anyone when we're in mourning for our father."
"Is that it? Well, darlin' no one is talking about a wedding now. I just want your promise and I'll be the happiest man on God's green earth."
"Yes, I promise." Angeline had no idea how she was going to get out of the mess she had made of things, but she knew there was only one man for her—and Lieutenant Devon O'Conner was that man.
• ♥ •
Philip sat on the wide veranda deep in thought, the coals from his pipe glowing in the dusk. In the lull of battle casualties during the last week, there’d been plenty of time to think about the future and he’d made a decision. Clarissa’s absence hadn’t removed her from his mind as he had hoped but had instead intensified his feelings for her. No matter how many times he reminded himself that she was a married woman, the mother of another man’s child, and that nothing could ever come of loving her, his obsession remained. And finally accepting that, he’d had no choice except write to Katherine and tell her that he couldn’t marry her. He’d done the honorable thing and left the public announcement of cancellation for her to handle in whatever way would cause her the least pain.
Then, even before his letter could have reached her, he’d had word from his father that arrangements had been made to exchange him for a Confederate prisoner. Philip slipped William Burke’s message from his pocket and even though he could barely see the words in the waning light, he had memorized what they said.
Oswego, New York
February, 1863
My dear son,
It has taken much longer than I had hoped to negotiate your return. At first, it was impossible to locate you and after that the Union Army has been reluctant to allow a suitable candidate to be exchanged while the Confederates have been adamant about matching your expertise with who they are to receive. But at long last, the matter can be concluded.
You will be permitted to return home, and in view of the new Conscription Act, should be able to stay. In case you haven’t heard, a law has been passed to make military service mandatory for men from twenty to forty-five years of age, but by paying a fee of three hundred dollars, you may hire another to fight in your place. So, I assume that if you are drafted for further duty, this would be your choice, as it has been your brothers. With that in mind, I have spoken to someone about a downtown building suitable for your practice and the Bennett house across the street is now for sale and would be a wise purchase in view of your upcoming marriage to Miss Kingsley.
In the meantime, we shall pray for your safety and continue to send the supplies that you need for your work.
Your devoted father,
William T. Burke
Philip sighed as he returned the letter to its envelope. Reports were the Union Army was preparing to strike Vicksburg soon and attention was focused on that campaign. But Chattanooga was too valuable to both sides to be forgotten. It would be only a matter of time until the Union tried to seize control and the Rebels would have to defend it against whatever odds. No matter who won Chattanooga, there would be heavy casualties, and Whitehaven would be hard-pressed to handle them. And who knew what would happen to Clarissa and her sister if the Union forces captured the city? Would they get away to Rossville in time? Would they even try? Probably not, dedicated as they were to being good nurses.
Under the circumstances, it would be very awkward to return to Oswego just now. And if he were honest, he didn’t want to leave Clarissa and Whitehaven. He had been given the best medical training available and it was his obligation to use it to help his fellow man. And where better to use his skill than right here?
Knocking out his pipe on the brick floor, Philip stood and went inside, passing the dozing guard in the doorway. It was growing late so he’d wait until tomorrow to answer his father’s letter. He envisioned the reaction his refusal would bring and felt a deep regret that once again he would be causing pain to people who didn’t deserve it.
• ♥ •
Rossville, March 1863
Josiah Wakefield lifted his glass of port and said with heartfelt emotion, "To a glorious victory for our Confederacy and to your safe and speedy return."
Clarissa and the others in the drawing room drank the toast in unison and added their best wishes to Malcolm who stood in the center of the circle. It had been more than a week since she had arrived at Fleur-de-Lis and she chafed to return to Whitehaven and her work, but propriety required that she stay as long as her husband remained.
"Will you be leaving early tomorrow, Malcolm?"
"Yes, Aunt Jane. I’ll ride with Father to Chattanooga and take the Memphis & Charleston from there."
"Then I’ll go with you and see you off at the station," Clarissa added, glad for an excuse to leave as soon as possible.
"That won’t be necessary," Malcolm said. "The depot will be teeming with soldiers and riff-raff. It’s not a fit place for a lady."
"All right," Clarissa agreed. "But at least I can share the carriage with you into the city."
"Whatever for, Clarissa?" Florence asked. "Napoleon would just have to bring you back again."
"No, Mother Wakefield. I meant to stay at Whitehaven."
"But I thought—"
"And you thought correctly, Mother," Malcolm said. "My wife is staying here with my son where she belongs."
"But, Malcolm, I—"
"Clarissa, haven’t you and your sister disgraced us enough already nursing those uncouth men?"
"If not Angeline and me, then who will do it, Mother Wakefield?" Clarissa asked passionately. "Tell me, who?"
Malcolm gripped her arm and smiled to the others. "And now if you’ll excuse us, we’ll say goodnight." He propelled her toward the stairs and she went without protest. It would be better if they discussed this in private. Since he had not mentioned it during the week, she had hoped the matter was forgotten and she could continue her work without any opposition.
Perhaps she could have if she’d kept quiet until he’d gone, but now a major confrontation loomed, and as they went up the steps she tried to prepare herself for a rational presentation of her case.
Malcolm opened the door to his bedroom and shoved her inside so hard she stumbled. Turning to glare at him, she saw only the palm of his hand before it connected with her cheek and sent her reeling toward the bed.
She struggled to stand up. "How dare—"
"No, how dare you defy me in front of my family? Did you really think I’d let you get away with
that, you little bitch?"
She gasped. "Malcolm, you can’t talk—"
"Can’t?" He smiled facetiously. "I’m your husband, remember? I make the decisions here. And I forbid you to go back to Whitehaven."
"But my sister—"
"What your sister does is no concern of mine. I’ll let my cousin Nathan worry about that. But he’s not likely to give the Forsythe name to a girl who’s spent the war acting like a camp follower."
"That’s not true," Clarissa cried. "Angeline and I have nursed the sick and wounded like any good woman would do if she had the chance. The Confederacy is proud of the women who take care of its soldiers."
"Well, I’m not proud to have my wife acting like a whore," he took a menacing step toward her, "so your days of nursing are over, my dear. From now on, this is where you’ll stay and see that you remember it."
Too angry for caution now, Clarissa glared at him defiantly, "Someone must take my place, then. And since the job is only fit for whores, will you send your darling Ruane to Whitehaven?"
His blow, delivered with a curse, knocked her to the floor and she lay watching the room spin dizzily around her for a long moment before she pulled herself up. When she looked at him, there were two Malcolms, and she wished them both dead.
"Get out of my sight," he said in a low even voice.
Gladly, she said silently and added, forever.
Walking past him with as much pride as she could muster, Clarissa made her way to the room where she slept.
"Polly," she whispered, shaking her servant. "Polly, wake up."
"What—what it is, Missa?" Polly sat up, eyes wide in alarm.
"You’ve got to go to the slave quarters and wake Napoleon. I want him to get the carriage ready to leave. And then you come back and help me get our things ready."
"Missa—"
"There’s no time to explain now." Clarissa pulled her up from the cot where she lay. "Hurry. I’m not staying in this house another night. And I’m taking you and Robert with me."
"But won’t Masta Malcolm be wantin’—"
"Master Malcolm is the reason we’re leaving." Clarissa turned the lamp wick higher. "He struck me, see?" She turned her swelling cheek toward the light.
"Oh, Missa," Polly wailed.
"No man is going to do this to me. Now, go, and be quick about it. We’ve got to get away as soon as we can. And tell Napoleon not to bring the carriage to the door. We’ll slip out to the stables and leave from there."
"But, Missa, we’ll get Napoleon in a heap o’ trouble for helpin’ us. Masta Josiah will whip him for this."
"No, he won’t. Not after I tell him what Malcolm did to me. Now go!"
Hastily, Clarissa began pulling things from the drawers and armoire. She focused on the trip to Whitehaven, refusing to consider what might happen if they were caught.
• ♥ •
Chattanooga, March 1863
Clarissa seethed with rage as they rumbled along the rutted road leading into the city. Malcolm had humiliated and insulted her before, but he had never struck her. She debated telling his father, but knew Josiah would probably remind her that she was subject to her husband's wishes and that staying on at Whitehaven wasn't proper. Why, even Philip Burke had told her that duty to her husband should come first.
Polly sat on the seat opposite Clarissa, holding her sleeping son, soothing him when they hit a bad bump that woke him.
"Missa, why you gonna tell them we comin’ this time of night?"
"I'll think of something, if I have to. Maybe they'll all be asleep."
"I jes know Napoleon gonna git beat half to death for this," Polly moaned.
They were in the city now and the carriage wheels sounded loud on the uneven brick streets as Napoleon drove the panting horses the last distance to Whitehaven.
"Quiet now," Clarissa cautioned as they made their way up the wide steps to the front door. They might have slipped past the sleeping guard if Robert hadn't wakened just then and begun to cry.
"Halt," the sleep-dazed guard mumbled, groping for his pistol.
"It's all right, Private," Clarissa told him.
"Mrs. Wakefield? Is that you?"
"Yes, it's me. Now, move aside so we can come in."
The little cavalcade was almost to the stairs when Philip spoke from behind them. "Clar—Mrs. Wakefield?"
"Yes, Captain." She turned and looked at him, her head held high as his face registered shock at her bruised cheek.
"You're hurt. What—" He stepped forward, but she held up her hand.
"It's nothing. I...had an unfortunate encounter."
"Soldiers?" His face grew thunderous.
"Yes, a soldier did this to me." It wasn't a lie.
"You need a cold compress on that. Come to the library and I'll—"
"I can take care of it," she answered decisively. "Now if you'll excuse us, we need to get these things upstairs so Napoleon can return to Rossville."
With a puzzled frown, Philip watched them climb the stairs, still trying to comprehend what had happened. Whatever it was, she obviously wasn't going to talk about it. Surely, they hadn't been ambushed. And what the hell were they doing traveling back from Rossville this time of the night? And for that matter, why were her son and Polly with her?
He would wait for Napoleon to come back downstairs and get to the bottom of this, Philip decided. He didn't have long to wait, but the slave was not alone when he returned; Polly was with him.
"Now somebody tell me what is going on here," Philip said, looking expectantly at both of them.
"Captain Burke," Polly stepped forward. "You a Union soldier, ain't you?"
"Well, yes, but—did Union men ambush you?"
"No, suh." It was Napoleon who answered.
"Napoleon, he gonna git whipped for bringing Missa home without nobody knowin' ‘bout it. And he been thinking on..." she looked around and seeing that the guard was sound asleep again continued in a whisper, "goin’ North."
Philip looked to Napoleon for confirmation. "I see."
"And there ain't gonna be no bettah time than now 'cause he in trouble anyway." She stopped and pressed both hands together. "I tole him how to git to Mimosa Manor, that's where we come here from, but I—we thought maybe you could hep him git clear out of the South."
Philip thought of Virginia and her work with the runaway slaves. He looked at the stalwart young man who stood before him with such hopeful eyes and made a hasty decision. "I just may be able to do that, Polly." He turned toward the library and motioned them to follow. "Come on into the library." Then, to Polly, he added, "You take my haversack and go to the kitchen and prepare food. Napoleon will join you at the back door in a few minutes."
Knowing that what he did, if found out, could cost him his life, Philip took a piece of paper and drew a rough map, giving suggestions as he did so. Then he wrote a letter to his sister-in-law. "I'd send word from here except my letters are probably censored," he told the slave. "This note is to a member of my family. If you can get that far, they will help you."
"Thank you, Cap'ain Burke, suh." Napoleon raised grateful eyes to the surgeon and stood a little straighter.
"God bless you and keep you safe." Philip held out his hand and for the first time in his life, Napoleon shook a white man's hand and then he was gone.
Philip sat smoking for a long while after Napoleon left. He wondered if Clarissa was aware of the slave's plans and if that had anything to do with their unexpected arrival or the condition of her face. It was too late to learn more tonight, but he would get to the bottom of the thing tomorrow. Meanwhile, he was grateful to have her back, even with all the mystery surrounding her return.
• ♥ •
Clarissa spent a sleepless night in spite of taking morphine powders for her pain. Looking at herself in the mirror in the early dawn, she was dismayed at her appearance. The side of her face was black and swollen and one eye would barely open. The story about an attack by soldiers would have to
suffice as she could think of nothing better. Perhaps it would be best if Josiah Wakefield believed that, too.
"Sister, you're ba—oh, no, what happened to your face?"
Angeline stood in the door, open-mouthed with shock.
"We—were ambushed." It was harder to tell a lie to her trusting sister. She gave her attention to covering her bruise with face powder.
"But when did you arrive? I didn't hear the carriage?"
"Late last night. And I brought Robert and Polly with me."
"Here? How did you get Mister Wakefield to agree to that?"
"He didn't. In fact, he doesn't even know yet."
"Clarissa! What will he say?" Angeline looked at her with dread.
"I have no idea," Clarissa smiled grimly, "but I'm sure to find out soon."
"Well, I'm glad you're back. There's someone I want you to meet." Angeline smiled sweetly, her eyes sparkling at the secret she harbored.
Something in her tone alerted Clarissa to expect a confession, and she waited warily.
"Since you've been gone, more wounded soldiers have come. And one is the handsomest man you can imagine. And he has the most divine voice. You should hear him sing the Irish ballads that Captain Burke plays. And—"
"Irish? This man is from the North?"
"Oh, no, Devon O'Conner's home is in the eastern mountains of Tennessee." She took Clarissa's arm. "Come on, I'm dying for you to meet him."
A soldier in faded blue waited at the foot of the stairs and even before Angeline introduced him, Clarissa realized this was the man of whom her sister had spoken.
"Oh, Devon, my sister is here. Clarissa, this is Lieutenant Devon O'Conner."
Clarissa looked at Devon with surprise. "You are a Union soldier?" He nodded, and she turned to Angeline and said sharply, "I thought you said—"
"I said he is from Tennessee," she explained softly.
Clarissa looked again at Devon O'Conner. "Any man who lives in Tennessee and fights in the Union Army is a traitor."
"Sister—" Angeline gasped.
"It's all right, luv," Devon said quietly. "It's not the first time I've heard that word."
"And I doubt this is the first time you've used such an intimate term for my sister, Lieutenant." Clarissa looked at the handsome man who stood smiling benignly at her, then turned to Angeline again. "I really shouldn't have left you here alone, I see. There are always uncouth people who will take advantage of a young girl without a chaperone, even if she is engaged to be married."