“Worried about what? That Snyder would get into more trouble?”
“A little bit of that, but mostly – mostly that he might say something to hurt Charlotte.” McMahon’s brown eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I’m stupid, do you? Worrying about some girl who treated me like that? I know that Snyder thinks I’m an idiot.”
Ben shook his head. “I don’t think you’re stupid in the least. I have the same concerns. And if you’re a fool, I’m a worse one. I think - I suppose I’ve gone and fallen for her, too.”
He nodded. “Doesn’t much surprise me. You were spending a lot of time with her, and Charlotte makes it easy for a man to fall in love.”
Ben thought about the façade Delaney and the others fell in love with, a sparkling, charming illusion that bore only a slight resemblance to the Charlotte that he knew. A woman, not a girl, his version was as torn by conflicting loyalties, as scarred by old wounds and uncertainties as he was. And it scared him to imagine returning to Texas without her.
He clamped down on the idea of taking her even as it began to form. He might have resigned his captaincy, but no matter what it cost him, he could not attempt to free Charlotte by force. Even if he succeeded, Ben knew blood would flow, just as he knew he would not be able to live with himself if he raised his hand against the nation he had once sworn to defend.
He was certain that Charlotte, too, would be appalled by the notion. “I told you,” she’d insisted, “I’m finished hurting others.”
Better to let General Armsworthy decide about her future. Perhaps he would free her on the mistaken assumption that she was a harmless girl manipulated by shrewd Southern men. Even if he didn’t, Ben would try to find some legal means to make a future with Charlotte and Alexander possible.
“You’re going to have to convince the general to find another place for her to stay,” Ben told the lieutenant. “Or at the very least, watch Snyder closely to be sure he stays clear of Charlotte. General Branard’s finished listening to me.”
McMahon hesitated. “How can you be sure I wouldn’t want her kept quiet, too?”
Ben clapped a hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder. “Because I know you, Delaney. You might have made a few mistakes – all of us do – but you aren’t the sort of man who’d want a woman hurt or a fatherless child left all on his own.”
“Are you talking about – about murder, Captain Chandler? Do you really think -- ?”
“When enough’s at stake, I believe that anything is possible,” Ben said.
And as he passed Lieutenant McMahon the resignation he had written, he wondered how he would forgive himself if that possibility came true.
Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire
To grasp this Sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits – and then
Remold it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!
-- Omar Khayyam,
(Edward FitzGerald translation)
The Rubaiyat, stanza 99
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Friday, July 25, 1862
Tillie came upstairs soon after dawn. The older woman was early with the tray this morning, but to Charlotte it made no difference; she had remained rocking in this same chair all night with her mind too troubled to find the succor of sleep.
Polly leapt off Charlotte’s lap, where she’d been purring, and rushed to curl around Tillie’s legs. Mercenary to her core, the cat must have scented the pitcher of fresh milk that sat among the breakfast offerings.
Tillie shoved her aside with her foot. “That one waits up all night so’s she can tangle up my skirts come mornin’, but what’s your reasonin’?”
Charlotte supposed that smudges underscored her eyes and puffiness announced that she had been weeping. She’d never been able to disguise the consequences of a sleepless night. Before she could find the words to answer Tillie’s question, the mulatto woman’s attention turned to Alexander’s empty bed.
“Where’s that boy this mornin’?”
Charlotte sighed. “He’s sleeping in the maid’s room next door down. Said he didn’t want to be shut up with a criminal any longer.”
“Didn’t take your news so good, then,” Tillie said, reaffirming the fact that she had needed no real explanation to discern the truth about Alexander.
“He’s very angry with me,” Charlotte said.
“He’ll get on past it, by and by,” Tillie advised her. “That boy love you plenty.”
“And I’ve been wondering all night . . . if I love him enough.”
“Course you do. That’s foolishness, talkin’ that way. He just mad now. Just like the general mad at Captain Chandler. They both get past it soon enough.”
Charlotte couldn’t help reacting to the mention of Ben’s name. “Why is General Branard upset with Captain Chandler?”
“Oh, the cap’n’s been tryin’ to help him out with a few things. A few of his official duties, you might say.”
She sounded like a woman trying to blanket ugly truth. Charlotte had never known Tillie to mince words on any subject.
“That doesn’t sound like such a secret. Isn’t that his job?” Charlotte asked, hoping for some explanation.
Tillie frowned at her. “What I’m sayin’ is, I’m knowin’ the general for a long spell, and his - his mind ain’t what it once was. Cap’n Chandler’s been tryin’ to help keep folks from findin’ out and runnin’ him out of the army. Only some damn fool told the general, and he’s got him a bad case of hurt pride. The old man say he’s runnin’ Chandler off for it today, ‘less somebody talks some sense into the general first.”
Charlotte stood. “Ben’s leaving?”
Tillie nodded. “He say he goin’ home to Texas. But I think there still time to change both of those men’s minds.”
“No. He can’t.” Charlotte’s heart beat hard against its cage of ribs. “He needs – I have to see him right away.”
Tillie’s brow creased as she stared at Charlotte. “I figured there something ‘tween the two of you. Somethin’ real, if I’m to judge. Now what you have in mind?”
Charlotte shook her head. Hard as it would be, this could be her answer, if she could find the strength to see it through. “Only Ben,” she insisted. “I’m only telling Ben.”
“If that’s how you want it, I’ll see if I can fetch him here,” Tillie said.
The mulatto woman left and returned with Ben not ten minutes later. He looked as if he’d passed a night as restless as Charlotte’s. His dark brown hair stood out in disorder, and his cheeks looked rough for want of shaving. Charlotte suppressed an urge to try to neaten him as she might Alexander. But memories of their encounter yesterday reminded her that this was a man and not a child.
“Thank you, Tillie,” Charlotte said.
Tillie nodded. “I’ll go and take the boy some of these good flapjacks. Maybe talk to him a while, too.” She backed out of the room with her tray held in her hands.
Polly followed, meowing her demands, and Tillie closed the door behind them with a bump from her slim hip. Clearly, she was not wasting her concern on the impropriety of leaving Ben and Charlotte together in this room.
Charlotte turned to Ben. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He smoothed his hair and fixed his top buttons, which had been askew. “I was half afraid to. I wasn’t sure what I might do if I saw you,” he told her, his voice roughened, as if by his cigars or whiskey. Yet she smelled neither alcohol nor smoke.
Was it her imagination, or did his gaze not quite touch hers? Charlotte stepped toward him, intent on forcing him to meet her eye.
“You’ll do nothing, Ben. I don’t want Alexander hurt, or you or anyone. There’s already been too much --”
“Don’t you understand?” he demanded. “Don’t you know how much doing nothing goes against my grain?”
“So you meant to leave without saying goodbye? After everything that’s passed between us?”
He did look up then, and his gray eyes
were wells of pain. “I would have come. I would have had to. Charlotte, maybe we could --”
She put her fingertips against his lips to stop him, but still, she saw his meaning in his eyes. He looked desperate enough to try almost anything.
“You can’t,” she said, shaking her head against the unspoken schemes that would risk both of their lives, schemes that even if successful would poison what they had. “I won’t allow it. Instead, I need something else from you.”
Despite the strength of her voice, doubt sliced through her. Did she really mean to ask this thing of Ben? Could she bear to do it?
But what choice did she have?
“I want a promise.” Her words fell like footsteps into mud, each one leaving a deeper hole upon her heart.
“Anything.”
She saw that he meant it. It made the asking harder, because she knew he would say yes.
She closed her eyes before she spoke. “Take Alexander with you. Take him to my aunt and her family down in Mississippi, south of Corinth. Then I’ll know that he’ll be safe.”
The fatigue left Ben’s face, replaced by anger. She could see he finally knew the threat that had been used against her. “I’ll kill Lieutenant Snyder.”
“You can’t. You won’t. This will be better. Please, Ben, say that you’ll take Alexander.” Unchecked tears streamed down her face. “He trusts you. He loves you.”
But did he still love her? Charlotte tried to recall Tillie’s assurances, but all she could hear were Alexander’s furious sobs the night before.
Ben nodded. “I love him, too.”
“I know. That’s the only reason I would trust . . .” Her throat choked down around the words. Was she really sending away her child?
“There’s been fighting around Corinth,” Ben said. “What makes you think your family’s still there?”
She shook her head. “I can’t be certain that they are.”
“And what if --”
“Then take him with you. Please. Take care of him for me.”
“He won’t leave you.”
“Today, he will. Last night, I had to tell him I’m his mother. You were right. I couldn’t keep the secret any longer.”
“And afterward? What will you do?” he asked, and she saw hope flicker in his eyes.
She nodded. “It could be a long time, especially when General Armsworthy finds out I sent away Alexander and that I will still refuse to testify. But unless I’m dead, I promise, I will come for him.”
She wondered, would it take her months or years? Would her child know when he saw her face? Or would he call out, “Mother!” but instead turn to a woman Ben had married who would raise Alexander as her own? Charlotte prayed for strength to make a decision in her son’s best interests, no matter how it hurt.
Ben pulled her into his arms. “I mean to find a way . . . for all of us,” he whispered.
As she leaned against him, he told her how she might find his ranch, the best routes into Texas, that he would always wait for her. The words carved themselves into her so painfully, she was sure she never would forget them. As he held her, she likewise gave directions to the plantation where Aunt Lila’s family lived.
“But I wouldn’t wear your uniform around there,” she advised.
He nodded. “After today, I’m no one’s soldier. I don’t care if Branard goes down on bended knee and begs me to stay. After today, I’m just a man who runs some cattle.”
“That will never be all you are,” she corrected, and they sealed their bargain with a kiss to last a lifetime, a kiss that would take the two people she loved away from her.
o0o
“About time you made it back to work,” Hank Branard said as Ben Chandler clumped down the last few steps. It felt good to have the captain back; now they’d get some work done. “How’s the leg this morning?”
Chandler’s gaze snapped upward, and Branard caught the amazement in the Texan’s eyes. The general’s mood plummeted, for he’d seen that expression too often and from too many people lately. It meant he’d forgotten something of importance – and Tillie wasn’t here to tell him what it was.
He noticed then that Chandler wore a civilian shirt and trousers. Branard decided he must have ordered the man to blend in with the locals and try to find out more about the rebel spies. Otherwise, why else would he dress in these clothes?
“The leg’s better, sir. Thanks for asking,” Ben Chandler answered, but as he spoke, Hank could almost feel the intensity of his regard, could almost hear him thinking how an old man had no business directing armies.
Nobody’d whipped more Mexicans than he had, Branard thought, and he could tell these young pups that experience was the key. A thimble full of experience like his could beat the Sam Hill out of any amount of youth and skill. They’d be fools to send him home.
“The President himself asked me to come here!” Branard shouted by way of self-defense.
Chandler grimaced, looking more disturbed than ever.
As Tillie hurried down the stairs, she stared at Branard as if he’d just pissed off the front porch. But instead of saying anything to him, she exchanged a glance with Ben Chandler.
“It that time now,” she told the captain.
“I’m finished with it,” Chandler answered.
Tillie shook her head. At the same time, Branard noticed Delaney McMahon standing in the doorway of the sitting room.
“It gonna take the both of us,” Tillie said to Captain Chandler.
The captain sighed before he nodded. “All right. I’ll need some papers from my desk.”
To Lieutenant McMahon, Chandler said, “It’s best if you stay clear of this.”
“You sure?” McMahon asked. “I can help if you want.”
“I’m sure,” Chandler told him before he disappeared into the parlor.
“What the hell is this?” Branard demanded. “I can smell a conspiracy! It’s Winfield Scott, isn’t it? He’s been after me for years now.”
Tillie tried to take his elbow, saying, “General Scott’s retired. Don’t you remember?”
Branard jerked his arm away. “I remember!” he lied. “And just because the man’s retired doesn’t mean he can’t pull strings.”
Tillie rubbed her wrist as if he’d hurt her.
In spite of Captain Chandler’s advice, Lieutenant McMahon came out of the doorway. “Let’s go to the library, General Branard. I was hoping you’d tell me the story of the generales who shot at each other instead of you. I can’t remember how it ends, and I was going to write it in a letter to my mother.”
Branard relaxed slightly as his mind slid back to the incident. He wouldn’t ordinarily take time from his busy schedule, but this was for the boy’s mother, after all. He allowed the red-haired lieutenant to guide him to his office, where he sat behind the gleaming desk. To his surprise, Tillie followed, and a moment later, Ben Chandler joined them. In his hand, he held a sheaf of papers.
Using his cane, he approached the general’s desk. McMahon closed the library door and stood beside it as if he’d been placed on sentry duty. Branard’s heartbeat raced as he sensed he wasn’t going to like whatever the three conspirators had in mind.
Chandler placed the papers across the desktop. One by one, he laid them out as if he were dealing a hand of solitaire.
“Yesterday, you asked for my resignation,” the captain told him. “Do you remember that?”
“Of course I do!” he thundered, while his mind groped blindly for the reason.
“Can you tell me why?” Chandler asked. His voice, though, was as gentle as if he were speaking to a child.
It made Branard mad as hell. “You know damned well why. Why don’t you explain it?”
“Because he know you can’t,” Tillie said, betraying him with every word. “Because we all know you can’t. Just like you can’t make heads or tails outta these orders you been sendin’, them ones Cap’n Chandler had to help put right so’s they made sense.”
Br
anard glanced down at the pages of unrecognizable handwriting. If he could call it that. Some of it looked more like a small child’s scrawling. Irregular patches of dried ink spotted the papers like a black pox.
Unable to bear looking any longer, he rose from his seat. “I don’t have to put up with this! I’m the commanding officer here – and I’m commanding every one of you to get out of my sight!”
No one moved, and Branard quaked with impotent fury. But the rage exhausted him, and in a moment, he dropped back into his chair. He couldn’t meet the eyes of those inside this room, for he’d already glimpsed the pity . . . and the truth.
“Althea’s back home waitin’.” Tillie’s voice softened, putting him in mind of the girl that she’d once been. “I’m waitin’, too, to go back to Illinois. Not as young as I was, either, but I sure miss my little room off that old kitchen. Feels like my home, too.”
His eyes watered with gratitude, for he saw the door that she had opened. “You want to go back home?”
She nodded. “I gettin’ too old to traipse up and down these steps a dozen times a day. Too old for all these comin’s and goin’s, too. Had my fill of wars.”
“Would you --” he asked, stepping around the desk to lay his hand on her shoulder, “— would you like me to take you?”
She nodded, and he saw tears shining in her beautiful blue eyes. “I like that more than anything. Can we go real soon?”
o0o
“It could be a long time before I can join you, Alexander.” Charlotte spoke mechanically, afraid that if she allowed the slightest hint of emotion to color her words, she would weep again. Terrified that she would be unable to let her child go to safety.
Strangely, after breakfast he had kissed Charlotte on the cheek, and chattered about his plans for the day as if she had not set his world on end the night before. She imagined he was trying to forget their conversation had ever happened, that she was no more or less to him than on any other day. Perhaps he was too overwhelmed to do anything except pretend.
She thought of trying to explain again, but necessity had intervened; instead, she had to tell him he would leave with Captain Chandler.
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