by Linda Swift
• ♥ •
Philip stood with Clarissa on the portico watching as the carriage drove away.
"I think you should have gone with her," Philip said as they turned to go back into the house. "It would have done you good to get away."
"It’s much too hot to travel with a small baby," Clarissa answered. "And besides, it would be harder to leave Robert and return again than not seeing him at all."
"You could have stayed, you know," Philip reminded her.
"Still trying to get rid of me?" she asked with a tilt of her head.
"You know I want you," his words carried more meaning than the answer to her teasing question, and he met her eyes with a look of naked longing.
A white-hot heat centered at the apex of her thighs as she remembered his hands touching her there during her delivery, and she drew a quick breath. "I know," she whispered, her lips barely moving.
"Clarissa," he had called her that when they were alone ever since the birth of the child who bore his name, "I promise myself again and again that I’ll be silent, but as long as I stay here, I can’t stop wanting you."
"Don’t," she said softly, and reached for the door.
He placed his hand on hers, and she trembled. "Why won’t you let me say it? What harm can it do to know I love you?"
"You make it more difficult...for both of us."
"Nothing could make it more difficult for me than to know I can never have you, Clarissa. And to realize that one day I’ll leave Whitehaven and not be able to see you again."
"Oh, Philip, don’t talk so," she said in an agonized whisper. "I can’t bear to think of it."
"Then go with me." He pressed closer until their bodies were touching.
She closed her eyes to gain control of the rising emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. "You know I can’t. My life is here."
She turned away and walked blindly into the cool hallway. There was never a waking hour that she didn’t want him, didn’t ache to have him touch her. Life had been a living hell since she’d had a glimpse of heaven and known she could never hope to have it, but the thought of Philip leaving was too awful to imagine. If only she were free to be with the man she loved. Soldiers were dying every day; why had her husband survived? Her feelings frightened her. God would punish her for harboring such evil in her heart. Asking a silent forgiveness, she made her way to the second floor to check on her sleeping child.
• ♥ •
Petersburg, Virginia, June 1864
Thick trees shut out the moonlight and the unfamiliar terrain seemed rife with hidden danger as the two soldiers stealthily made their way toward the sound of distant artillery.
"Damn blundering fools," Malcolm cursed softly and stopped to remove a flask from his coat pocket. "How could an uncouth jackass like Grant outsmart Lee’s whole Confederate Army?" He unscrewed the top and took a long swallow.
"Beats hell out of me, brother," Talmage answered as he paused and waited for Malcolm to resume walking. "Maybe this attack on Petersburg is just another ruse, like Sheridan’s diversion was, and the Federals are marching on Richmond after all."
"I wouldn’t put it past the sly devils." Malcolm took another swig, replaced the top, and put his flask back in his coat pocket. "Come on, we’re going to find out."
They crossed a dry creek bed, the sound of gravel and dead twigs crackling underfoot like the rattle of musketry. The gunfire grew louder, and the horizon lit up with flares of light with each exploding cannon.
Coming to the edge of the protective darkness the two men hesitated. The field before them was as bright as day.
"We’ll head to the left," Malcolm said softly, "and make a run for their lines, waving our white flags. If they don’t fire, the rest will be easy."
"And if they do?" Talmage countered.
"Then God help us," Malcolm answered, and urged his brother forward. "Come on."
They broke into a fast run, gray coats almost invisible in the silver light. Then, suddenly from a shallow trench neither saw, two figures rose up and took aim.
"Halt, or you’re dead."
"Now you wouldn’t be killing men who’re trying to get away from the Rebs, would you?" Malcolm asked persuasively. "We’ve got information your general would like to have."
"How do we know you’re telling the truth?" the other soldier demanded.
"I give you my word as an officer and a—"
"We’ve got no time to take prisoners back," the first man cut in. "Our orders are to scout the town. I say let’s shoot—"
"Look out!"
A scuffle. The quick exchange of gunfire. A bayonet thrust. Curses, groans, the thud of bodies falling. And when the scent of powder and smoke had cleared, three tangled bodies lay in the moonlit field; one clad in blue and the other two in gray, almost invisible, while a fourth in blue stole silently away.
• ♥ •
Chattanooga, June 1864
The heat was stifling for so early in summer and Clarissa finished changing the last soldier's bandages and gratefully put away her supplies. Since the siege ended, their medical needs had been adequately met and following the recuperation of the men wounded in the Battle of Chattanooga at the time of Elliot's birth, the number of patients had also decreased.
Hearing the sound of a carriage at the portico, she hurried to the front hallway, anxious to greet her sister and hear the news from Fleur-de-Lis.
"Mama! Mama!"
Small feet ran toward her, arms lifted for her embrace. "Robert, darling. What on earth are you doing here?" She bent and swooped her son into a close embrace, burying her face in his russet hair as she looked to her sister for the answer to her question.
"I want to see my baby brother," Robert demanded before Angeline could speak.
"Of course you do, sweetheart. And you shall. Just as soon as he wakes." She put him down and smiled. "I can't believe what a big boy you are now."
"I can ride a horse, Mama. And Beau can, too."
"That's wonderful. I can't wait for you to show me."
"Clarissa," Angeline touched her arm, "we need to talk. Let's leave Robert with Polly, and go out to the gazebo for a little while."
Looking at her sister's troubled face, Clarissa quickly agreed and called the servant from the kitchen. Watching the happy reunion of her son and his mammy, she realized that Polly must have missed Robert almost as much as she had. As the two went up the stairs to take a peek at the sleeping baby, Clarissa followed Angeline outside.
The bright sun was almost blinding after the dim hallway, and Clarissa shaded her eyes with her hand since she had no bonnet. At the vine-covered gazebo, Angeline sat down and patted the bench beside her. Expecting to hear how difficult it had been for her sister to break the news about Nathan to his parents, she was surprised by Angeline's first words.
"I know you're wondering why I've brought Robert back with me, Clarissa, but I fear I am the bearer of sad news here, as well as at Cedarhurst. When I arrived at Fleur-de-Lis last night, the family was in a state of shock. You see, yesterday they had received a telegram from Richmond," she stopped and took a deep breath and reached for Clarissa's hand, "and—and it said that Talmage and—Malcolm—oh, sister, how can I bear to tell you?" she closed her eyes a moment, then went on, "that they died at Petersburg."
Finally finding her voice, Clarissa asked in disbelief, "Both of them?"
"Yes, together. And that's what makes it so much worse.”
Clarissa sat stunned, unable to speak or cry, unable to believe the words her sister had said.
"It seems when Grant's army left Cold Harbor, they went on to attack Petersburg, and Lee's forces rushed to its defense. And now, the city is under siege by the Union, just like Vicksburg was. And it was after the siege began that Malcolm and Talmage were—killed. That's all they know about it right now. I'm so sorry, sister. I wish I hadn't had to tell you this."
Clarissa nodded numbly.
"And I'm afraid that's not all."
> "Not all?" Clarissa asked in disbelief. "Lawton is dead. Sylvester is dead. Nathan is badly injured. And now Malcolm and Talmage are dead, as well. And you tell me that's not all? What more can happen? There is no one left!"
"It's about Mister Wakefield. The news of both sons being killed at one time, I'm sure that's why he had the stroke. It's just too much—"
"Stroke? Father Wakefield?" Clarissa's eyes widened.
"Yes, right after they got the telegram. Mary Jane said he just fell on the floor and they thought he had died, too, for a time. But he's alive."
"Is he—how—"
"He can't move one side of his body, and his face is all twisted, and he can't talk." She shuddered. "And they have no one at Fleur-de-Lis who can take care of him. Sometimes he yells and gets wild and thrashes about with his one good arm and they have to restrain him. So Lydia and her mother thought it would be best if he came back to Whitehaven and...I agreed." She gave Clarissa an apologetic look. "I hope you don't mind?"
"Mind? Of course, I don't mind. This is Josiah Wakefield's home. And Philip Burke will be able to give him the best medical care possible."
"And Mary Jane is coming along to help care for him. In fact, she's riding in the carriage with him, and they should be here before dark. So that's why I brought Robert. Since she was the one who looked after him, I knew you wouldn't rest easy if he was left there in the care of Lydia's hateful servant."
"You did the right thing, Angeline. And I'm so happy to have both my boys here with me again."
"I should go in now and unpack my things and make space for Mary Jane. Since Mister Wakefield and Robert are back, and the major has one of the rooms, I thought it would be best if Mary Jane shared mine."
Clarissa nodded absently in agreement.
Angeline stood. "Are you coming in with me, Clarissa? It's terribly hot out here."
"You go ahead. I want to stay for a while."
After a warm embrace, her sister left her, and Clarissa sat looking toward the river where a haze obscured the view, trying to sort her jumbled thoughts. Malcolm was dead. In the time it took to blink an eye, she had gone from being a wife to becoming a widow. A great wave of sorrow engulfed her, but no tears came. Her husband was dead. Her sons had no father. Robert would not remember him, and Elliot would never know him at all. It no longer seemed to matter what kind of man he had been. What mattered was that he was gone, and there was no chance of righting wrongs or making things better. Death was final.
Then, the feeling of loss was replaced with guilt. She had wished him dead. No, she had really only wanted him out of her life so she would be free to love Philip. It was the same thing, her conscience told her. It was as though she had made it happen. And now, she would always have to remember what she had done and despise herself for it. And she wondered, once again, how she had come to love the surgeon whose Union Army was responsible for the devastation that surrounded them.
Lost in her thoughts, Clarissa was unaware of footsteps approaching until someone spoke her name.
"Clarissa?"
She flinched at the sound of Philip Burke's voice, and not looking at him, said in a strained voice, "I didn't know you were back. I'm sorry you had to come looking for me to help with the men."
"There were no soldiers on the train this morning. Luke and I brought home an empty wagon."
He came into the shade of the gazebo and stood a few feet from her. "Clarissa?"
She turned her stricken face toward him but said nothing.
"Angeline told me about your husband. I'm sorry."
She nodded and looked away, not trusting herself to speak.
"And she told me about Josiah Wakefield. The loss of both sons at one time is tragic."
"He's coming here. Did she also tell you that?"
"Yes, and it will be the best place for him. I may be able to control his erratic behavior with drugs. And perhaps help him regain some use of his paralyzed limbs."
"Robert is here, too."
"And Mary Jane is coming. With so many, it might be best if I moved back downstairs to the library."
"That won't be necessary."
"I won't mind. I've felt like an imposter sleeping in the family's quarters, anyway."
"Oh?" she asked in a mocking tone.
"You don't believe me? Do you think I take pleasure from plundering another man's possessions?"
"I don't know." She met his eyes accusingly. "I only know there are more ways to conquer than with cannon."
"There is only one possession of a Wakefield that I have ever coveted." His words hung between them and the silence lengthened.
"I can't believe you'd say that to me now."
"I speak the truth."
"You've compromised my reputation, made a mockery of my vows, and now you shame me in my widowhood."
"Methinks thou dost protest too much," he said quietly. "Are you sure it isn't yourself you are angry with, Clarissa? Guilt makes the grief much harder to bear."
"Yes, I'm angry with myself," she spat out the words, "and I do feel guilty for all the wicked thoughts I've had about my own husband. While he was away fighting and dying for our way of life, I've been here dallying with another man like a brazen hussy."
"That was my fault. I preyed on your weakness and your kindness." He looked at her with compassion before he went on. "And your innocence."
"It doesn't matter who's to blame. There is enough of it to go around, I think." She wrung her hands. "The fact remains that my husband is dead, my sons have no father, and I shall always have to live with the fact that by my own wanton desires, I have wished for this."
"Clarissa, my love, don't torture yourself this way." He made a move toward her, but she shrank back.
"Don't. I have given up my good name, the respect of my husband's family, and the care of my son to be with you." She looked at him with stony resignation. "I don't want you to touch me, not now, not ever again. I can't bear to be reminded of my betrayal."
"You have betrayed nothing! Be sensible, Clarissa. The man abused you. I know it's wrong to speak ill of the dead, but he wasn't worthy of your love."
She turned her face away. "Please leave me alone. I don't want you to speak of it again."
"I'll go for now, Clarissa. You need time. Then, we'll see. But know that I'll wait for you till hell freezes over, if need be."
No, it is finished, she whispered silently as she heard his footsteps grow fainter on the brick walk. I will be a better widow than I was a wife. I will be a good mother, and give my sons no reason to feel shame. And I will earn God's forgiveness for my terrible sins.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Chattanooga, July 1864
The rows of cots in the dining room of Whitehaven grew fewer day by day as Sherman's armies moved farther into Georgia. And Philip, aware that his time here diminished with each empty cot, resigned himself to leaving soon. The knowledge of what lay in the immediate future was often on his mind, and he welcomed the distraction of Clarissa's young son as he made his daily rounds. Robert was a precocious child who seemed to have a keen interest in learning, and the two had formed a good rapport, not unlike a father and son should have, he thought.
"And then you hold it here, on Private Jackson's chest and you listen." Philip waited while the small boy adjusted the stethoscope and listened intently. "Do you hear anything?"
"Yes, suh," Robert grinned, "I hear a drum."
"That's Private Jackson's heart beating."
Robert's eyes widened. "Truly?"
Philip nodded, and Private Jackson and the other patients nearby laughed good naturedly. "Guess that means I'm still alive, huh, young doctor?" He fixed Robert with a level gaze. "You are a doctor, ain't you?"
Robert looked at Philip, then back at the soldier. "No, suh," he said in a small voice. "I'm just the Major's helper."
The soldiers laughed again. "Well, young fella, I reckon that's good enough for me." He winked at Philip, then asked, "And what do I owe you for yo
ur trouble?"
Robert glanced uncertainly at Philip who remained silent. "I didn't get in any trouble, did I, suh?" he asked solemnly.
The two men's eyes met, and both smiled. "Not with us, but I hear your mama calling you, so you may be in trouble with her." Philip said.
"In here, Mama, with the Major," Robert answered and Clarissa soon appeared in the doorway.
"Robert, I told you not to bother—"
"He isn't bothering a thing, Mrs. Wakefield," Philip told her as with a hand on his shoulder, he guided Robert away from the patient's cot.
"Thank you, young fella. I'll look for you again tomorrow," the private called as they walked into the hall.
"Robert seems to have a positive effect on the patients," Philip observed. "That was the first time I've heard Private Jackson laugh since I took off his arm."
"I got to hear a heart beating, Mama," Robert said as he gave the instrument back to Philip. "It sounded like a drum."
Clarissa smiled at her son. "Thank the major for loaning you his stethoscope and come with me. I'm sure your little brother is awake now and wanting to play with you."
"Thank you for the stepocope, Major, suh," Robert said obediently.
"You're very welcome, Robert." Philip put a hand on the little boy's head affectionately. "I hope you'll help me again tomorrow, if your mama doesn't mind."
He stood watching as Clarissa and her son climbed the stairs hand in hand. It had been good for the child to be here now. He was a lively diversion that Clarissa badly needed. She had withdrawn into herself since learning of her husband's death, and only the presence of her children seemed to comfort her. God knows she would accept no comfort from him. Except for their work with the patients, she ignored him as if he didn't exist.
But he was very much aware of her. Even in her drab, dark dresses with her hair twisted into a severe knot, she was desirable, and he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to ravish her each time he came near her. If anyone had ever told him that he would love a woman who had been married, who had a family, a woman who supported the Confederate Cause and slavery, he would have scoffed. And he could well imagine what his family would say to such a thing, how they would receive Clarissa, if he were foolish enough to wed her and return to Oswego. But he had not given up his determination to marry the love of his life. It was only a matter of getting inside that protective wall she had erected around herself, but time was running out, and he had made no progress since she had gone into mourning.