Innocent Deceptions

by Gwyneth Atlee

  Ben was distracted by footsteps in the hall above. Unless he missed his guess, they were moving toward the staircase. Unwilling to be caught listening, he began his ascent.

  By this hour, the pressure of his prosthesis made his lower leg throb, and he took great care in his climb. Jonathan Snyder passed him on his way downstairs with a haversack slung over one shoulder.

  Ben wanted to ask about Colonel Williams to see if Snyder knew why the general had warned the man away from Charlotte. But if Ben could hear the two men talking in the sitting room, he had to consider the possibility that they might hear him, too. Besides that, Tillie must be somewhere nearby, and Charlotte might come in at any moment.

  After deciding to postpone asking his questions, Ben told the lieutenant, “Have a care tonight. The moon’s bright enough that you wouldn’t be hard to follow. We don’t want anyone to --”

  “I know my duty, Captain,” Jonathan said mildly, but his gaze rested on Ben’s cane and not his face.

  Ben recognized the pity and, worse yet, distaste in Jonathan’s expression. And something else as well. Was it the smugness of a young man who remained whole and sound and eager to race off aboard a swift horse in the night? Or envy over Ben’s rank and the confidences the general shared with him?

  “I’m certain that you do,” Ben replied, and he tapped the wood of his prosthesis with his cane. “And up until February, I might have sworn that was enough.”

  It was no wonder Snyder had refused Ben’s invitation to play poker, for his face revealed the shift in his emotions so quickly that it might as well have been transparent. Contempt replaced the earlier mélange, along with arrogance.

  Jonathan saluted. “If Miss Randolph should grow concerned, you can tell her I’ll come back safe and sound in a few days.”

  He passed Ben but did not venture into the sitting room. Instead, he walked toward the kitchen, and in a few moments, Ben heard the back door close again.

  Ben had no doubt that Jonathan’s last statement had been meant as a claim upon the territory of Charlotte’s affections. What he didn’t know – what would keep him awake and wondering much of the night – was whether the lieutenant would go speak to her out in the backyard . . . as the two of them had planned.

  o0o

  Charlotte watched as Tillie carried a lit candle toward the cottage, where she would pass the night. Charlotte told herself she wasn’t hiding from the mulatto woman, yet she’d been careful not to step outside the shadow that concealed her, and equally careful not to make a sound to give away her presence.

  She might as well have saved herself the trouble. Pausing at the doorway of the shanty, Tillie gazed directly toward her.

  “Things looks different in the moonlight, don’t they?” the older woman asked. “Somethin’ ‘bout it steals the colors right out of the world.”

  She was right, Charlotte realized. Green and yellow, blue and gray were all indistinguishable out here.

  The door creaked open to admit Tillie. Without hesitating for an answer, she stepped inside the old slaves’ quarters that separated black from white.

  Waves of fatigue pushed Charlotte’s thoughts toward the bed awaiting her in the nursery. Sleep was what she needed, a sleep so deep she wouldn’t have to think about the strange emotions prompted by Tillie’s comments and especially Ben’s kiss.

  Charlotte told herself exhaustion lay at the root of all the awkward questions that were swirling in her mind, just as it explained why she had dropped her guard and allowed Ben Chandler so close. When the sun rose in the morning, the world would reclaim its proper hues and the logic that had made sense to her forever would again prevail.

  She started toward the back door, only to see it swinging open. When a tall figure passed through it, her breath froze in her lungs. Ben. Had he changed his mind about her? Had he come back for more than kisses?

  No! She couldn’t, wouldn’t allow him to tempt her from her course.

  The man jogged down the back steps – far too easily for someone with Ben Chandler’s artificial leg. A moment later, she realized he held no cane, either. As he walked in her direction, she at last recognized Jonathan Snyder.

  Disappointment bled into her relief, surprising Charlotte. She pushed it from her mind. Instead she forced herself to focus on the haversack Lieutenant Snyder carried, as well as the fact that he was walking not toward her but to the stable door. Was he going to attend some sort of duty so late at night? Could it be something important, a secret that would help bring this situation to an end?

  Though she would have preferred to slip past him and go inside and to bed, Charlotte reminded herself of what she had come home to do. Reluctantly, she stepped out of the shadows, where Jonathan would be sure to see her.

  He paused immediately. “Charlotte? What are you doing out here alone?”

  “Missing Timothy,” she lied, “and wondering if it’s too soon to have feelings . . . to have feelings for another.”

  As she’d suspected, Jonathan smiled, undoubtedly believing that she spoke of him. He moved closer and set down the haversack. She was surprised to realize he was slightly taller than Ben Chandler. Strange, since he seemed somehow less substantial.

  She stiffened when Jonathan Snyder took her hand, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “I’m sure your fiancé would have wanted you to be cared for, to be loved as he loved you.”

  Jonathan’s voice was solemn, but the fingertips that stroked her captive hand moved with a restless, eager rhythm. All too quickly, he leaned toward her. Charlotte’s stomach lurched with the realization that he meant to kiss her, too.

  She turned away and pulled her hand free, her head shaking. “No. I – I can’t do this.”

  She would ruin everything, she realized, if she could not control the revulsion she was feeling, so different from the attraction she had experienced minutes before. She fumbled for the right words to offer.

  “I can’t bear to lose someone else I care for,” she said, “and I can see you’re leaving. Aren’t you?”

  “I’ll be gone for one week, maybe two. Not because I want to,” he assured her. “But you couldn’t expect the general to send a weakling like McMahon or a cripple like Chandler to deliver an important message to a crucial command.”

  Though before it had seemed innocuous enough, Charlotte now realized she detested the way he seemed to puff up with his announcements. Despite Lieutenant Snyder’s aspersions, she preferred Delaney McMahon, with his kindness and his music, to this man. And though Ben Chandler was a danger to her, she could hardly imagine him inflating his importance to impress her.

  When she did not answer immediately, Jonathan hastened to fill the void.

  “You weren’t out here with one of them, were you?” he asked. “You weren’t here alone with Chandler?”

  Once again, Charlotte hesitated, hearing not only the jealousy in Jonathan’s voice but his need to win her. Especially over a man who outranked him.

  “We spoke briefly,” she admitted, for it occurred to her that Jonathan might have seen Ben go inside. She added a shrug. “Not that anything the man said qualified as conversation. I’m afraid that he still sees me as someone far too dangerous to talk to.”

  “Does he really? Then the man’s a fool. Anyone can see you’re perfectly innocent in all of this.” He gestured broadly, presumably to indicate the state of their divided country. “Why, anyone with eyes could see you’re no more dangerous than Alfred.”

  “Than whom?”

  “Your little brother. Alfred.”

  “Alexander,” she corrected. So, this lieutenant saw her as a child? Somehow, the idea rankled even worse than Ben’s suspicion.

  He dismissed his error with a wave. “Of course. The point is, I see you for who you really are, Charlotte. I see the way the two of us are meant to be --”

  “Lieutenant – Jonathan,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “I’m beginning to feel the same, but . . . I cannot allow my heart to be crus
hed again. As it is, I’m certain I won’t sleep tonight, not knowing where you are or how long you’ll be gone.”

  “But I can’t tell y--”

  Emboldened by the hint of desperation in his voice, she placed her hand atop his. “Truly, I understand. Just know that I’ll miss you all the evenings Delaney and I are playing music in the sitting room.”

  “Delaney? Lieutenant McMahon asked you to call him by his given name?”

  She nodded. “Delaney is far more congenial than the captain, after all. And we do spend quite a bit of time together selecting songs for our performances, discussing his home by the seashore in New Jersey --”

  “Is it me or him you care for?” Jonathan demanded.

  “You, of course. Why, Jonathan, are you upset? I only meant that --”

  He dropped to his knees so suddenly that Charlotte forgot what she was saying.

  “Please, Charlotte, promise that you’ll marry me once this is over.”

  Charlotte stared down at him, stunned by the suddenness of his declaration. Not that it was real. Clearly, he only wanted to claim her so no one else would in his absence. Even so, guilt twisted like a dagger in her heart. Jonathan Snyder might be an annoying braggart, but he did not deserve to be reduced to this.

  Do what you must and get this over with, she told herself. Yet the words caught in her throat.

  Michael’s, voice returned to prompt her. “Will you shirk your duty, now that fate has tapped you on the shoulder? Or will you finally make the Randolphs proud?”

  Though her mouth tasted of ash, she forced herself to speak. “I cannot promise . . . not without knowing where you are and how long we’ll have to be apart.”

  From somewhere in the darkness, a cat yowled, and the courting frogs fell silent for a tense half-minute. As well they might, for Polly would kill them if she could.

  Jonathan rose to stand before Charlotte and took both her hands in his. His voice dropped to a whisper. “And if I tell you, will you promise?”

  Charlotte felt a sick chill fluttering along her backbone.

  And behind them, the small frogs resumed their chorus, apparently forgetting the huntress in their midst.

  The battle it raged on, though dead and dying men

  Lay thick all o’er the ground, on the hill and on the glen;

  And from their deadly wounds, the blood ran like a rill;

  Such were the mournful sights that I saw on Shiloh Hill.

  -- from “Shiloh Hill,”

  by M. G. Smith

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Friday, June 20, 1862

  Alexander hadn’t planned on looking. He was only walking downstairs on his way to play outside when he got to wondering if the lead soldier he was missing might still be in Charlotte’s room. From downstairs, he could hear men’s voices, so he figured all the Yankees were already having breakfast, the way they usually did around this time.

  Charlotte had warned him not to go inside the second-story bedrooms, just as she’d told him to steer clear of the Union officers unless she was around. Sometimes she talked like it was Yankees instead of Randolphs that owned their house. Other times, she seemed like her same old self, acting like the overseer to the world. The longer Alexander stared at the closed door of Charlotte’s bedroom, the more unfair the whole idea seemed.

  He thought again about the toy he couldn’t find. It was the one he liked best, he decided, the one crouched down on one knee and sighting down his rifle. He’d rather be dosed with castor oil than let one of those Yankees find it, maybe decide to keep it for himself.

  Alexander crossed the fingers of his right hand and touched them to his heart for luck. Then he turned the knob and pushed open the door. He moved quickly so he wouldn’t lose his courage.

  The sight that greeted Alexander made him yelp with fear. Captain Chandler, the nicest of the Yankees, was sitting on the bed and looking at him – except he was in pieces! Captain Chandler was bent over, holding part of his leg in his hand.

  “Alexander -- what can I do for you?” the captain asked.

  But by the time the man’s words reached Alexander, he was already racing down the steps toward the back door. Once he had escaped the house, he made straight for the safety of the stacked bales in the hayloft.

  He scaled the ladder, then flopped down in a cobwebbed corner behind a green-gold barricade. Still breathing hard, he thought about what he had seen in Charlotte’s room. Alexander had known the captain’s leg was sore. Sometimes he made a face when he was walking, or leaned heavy on his cane. But it must have hurt real bad for it to fall off.

  The thought scared Alexander, and he wondered if he ought to tell someone. Would they be glad to know, or would he get into trouble for going where he oughtn’t?

  As he tried to decide what he should do, something in his pocket poked. He reached in and dug out a small tangle of soldiers. He used his hand to sweep bits of hay off the loft floor so he would have a clean spot where he could set them up.

  As he arranged the soldiers, he caught sight of something small and metal sticking through the green-gold stalks. On hands and knees, he leaned closer, until he made out the barrel of a tiny rifle.

  He blew softly to part the loose hay, then smiled when he saw his missing, favorite soldier. Just as he recalled, the figure squatted, looking down his rifle, as if he were preparing for an enemy ambush.

  At the sound of voices, Alexander’s gaze slid beyond the weapon’s barrel to a knothole that allowed him to peek down into the stable. Down to where Charlotte was standing in the arms of a Yankee officer.

  o0o

  Charlotte was grateful that, this time at least, her body did not betray her by reacting to a kiss. She realized now that preparation was the key. There had been nothing special about Ben Chandler’s touch just over a week before; she had merely been dazzled by the combination of a soft summer night and the long interval since she had been close to a man.

  This morning, Delaney McMahon’s lips tasted of youth and eagerness, but his hands, which played the piano so expertly, fumbled clumsily along her back, as if he had forgotten how to use them. To make matters worse, the smells of horse and hay made Charlotte’s nose itch.

  She had no difficulty pushing him away, for the fleeting kiss stirred no feeling but faint revulsion.

  Was this how fallen women felt: empty as the cicada shells she sometimes found on summer days after the insects hatched and disappeared? Though she understood such women offered more than kisses, she could hardly feel superior. After all, they did not trick men into spilling secrets with sacred promises.

  Once again, she marveled at how the art of flirtation had come back to her as if she’d never forsaken it. Only now she saw that in her youth she’d been merely a child playing at the game with half-developed skills. Of late, she plied them with a woman’s acumen – and with a purpose far less honest than a girlish desire to outshine her mother’s light. Poor Delaney never stood a chance.

  “I have to go now, Charlotte,” the red-haired lieutenant whispered in her ear. “But before I do, I want to tell you that you’ve made me the happiest man in the whole world.”

  She managed to look into his face, to see the way joy shone in his expression, and her stomach gave an unexpected lurch. Though he was her own age, he seemed so much younger, and she knew instinctively his heart was still unscarred.

  As it would remain until she broke it.

  “Don’t look so worried,” Delaney told her as he tightened the girth on the wiry bay gelding he would ride. “I’ll be careful, just like I promised. I’ll come straight back as soon as I get this message to Major General Buell.”

  “Where – where will you be?” she asked, not bothering to mask the desperation in her voice. She almost hoped he would refuse her, but he didn’t hesitate.

  “I understand he’s somewhere on the road to Chattanooga, but I’ll be quick as I can, darling.”

  She should ask for more details, she realized, but her voice would not
work. The way he’d called her darling kept ringing in her head. He reminded her of a young boy attempting to sound manful.

  When he leaned forward, she offered her cheek for a quick peck. But instead of acting disappointed, he regarded her with a proud smile.

  “You’re so darned sweet and pretty, Charlotte. I still can’t believe you’re mine. Now remember, not a word of this to anyone just yet.”

  She nodded, grateful for his earlier explanation that General Branard had warned all the men repeatedly to “treat our Miss Randolph as a sister.” Like Jonathan Snyder, Delaney McMahon had no choice but to keep their relationship a secret.

  Delaney led his mount out of the stable before telling her goodbye. No sooner had he vanished than she covered her eyes with both hands. But there was no hiding from the awful things she was doing.

  As tears leaked out beneath her fingers, today’s date winged its way across her consciousness: Friday the twentieth. Not quite nine in the morning, and she had already accepted a marriage proposal, her second in just over nine days.

  It had been bad enough when she’d agreed to Jonathan Snyder’s offer in order to elicit information. Bad enough because she’d known she had no intention of honoring her pledge. Worse still, she had immediately coded the information she’d been given as Michael had instructed and passed it to the woman who arrived the following morning to pick up the household laundry.

  For all she knew, Jonathan Snyder might be dead because of her. And though she liked him far less than Delaney, she didn’t hate him either, just as she no longer hated any of the men who had intruded on her home.

  This isn’t about hatred; it’s about ending this damned war, about getting Papa back home to the boatworks where he belongs, about returning Michael to his schoolhouse and making Alexander’s world a safe one. She wiped away her tears, thinking of how she would do her part in helping them come back to Memphis so they could once more meet for Sunday dinners, so they could form that wheel she’d dreamed of every night for weeks on end. Only this time when they met, she would no longer be the hub of shame.