Lily offered her guest a chair and returned ponderously to her own seat. Quint had found the time to send a letter to Eleanor Slocum, but not to her. That fact told her all she needed to know.
“What brings you here, Mrs. Slocum?” Lily felt huge and clumsy next to the elegant woman who lowered herself into the chair like a queen taking her throne. Suddenly her stomach seemed larger than before, grotesque even, and her hair too untidy, her dress too plain.
“I’m leaving the island this afternoon,” Eleanor Slocum explained indifferently. “I wanted to see you before I departed. The truth is, I should have left weeks ago, but…. ” She faltered, and her lips trembled slightly. “I don’t really know where I’m going.”
Lily frowned at the woman’s reticence. “Your family?”
“Disowned me when I married Henry Slocum.” A sad smile, but the composure was once again intact. “But that’s a long and very boring story.”
Lily wondered how close Eleanor Slocum and Quint really were. He’d said that his relationship with the widow had been one of friendship only, but had that been a lie? One of many? He’d written her a letter, and Lily was as jealous of that fact as of anything else.
“Your letter from Quint… is he all right?” Lily hated to have to ask, but not as much as she needed to know.
“Last I heard, he was just fine.”
“You’ve heard from him… more than once?”
“Three times.” Eleanor Slocum’s eyes were on Lily’s face. “The first letter explained some of what happened, Captain.” She smiled as she said the word aloud. “Then there were two letters which consisted of four words. ‘Is she still there?’ ”
Lily felt a rush of relief. He hadn’t forgotten her. “And your response?”
Eleanor Slocum lifted a finely arched brow. “I responded in kind, with a single word. Yes. I’m surprised he didn’t ask about your health, considering your condition.”
“He doesn’t know, and I’d prefer to keep it that way,” Lily said curtly.
“Is it his child?”
Lily felt her face grow warm. “Of course it’s his child!”
“Then why on earth—forgive me, Mrs. Tyler. I didn’t mean to pry into your personal affairs.”
Lily glared at the woman, and her imagination ran wild. Quint and Eleanor Slocum in her little cottage. Quint and the attractive widow together, back in the States.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Tyler?” Eleanor Slocum leaned forward, a concerned frown on her face. “You’ve gone quite pale.”
Lily stared into the widow’s dark eyes, searching for the truth. “What is your relationship with my husband, Mrs. Slocum?”
“I cursed Quintin Tyler as a fool for becoming so besotted with Lily Radford, the Captain’s mistress.” Eleanor Slocum smiled. “But it seems he wasn’t the only one bedeviled.”
Lily waited silently for her answer.
“Purely business, Mrs. Tyler.”
Lily released the breath she had been holding. Eleanor Slocum was telling the truth, she was certain. “So, you’re a spy as well?”
“I was. There’s no need for me to be involved in such activities any longer. The war is almost over, Mrs. Tyler.” There was sad relief in her voice. “Too late for me. Perhaps not too late for you.”
Lily laid her hands over her belly, unconsciously caressing her baby. “I hope that’s true.”
“You’re very lucky,” Mrs. Slocum said wistfully. “You have that baby, no matter what happens. I wish that I… that Henry and I… but we’d been married only a year when he was taken from me. He joined as soon as the war began. Two years later he was dead. My mother cursed me for a fool, because I waited for love. Love, she said, was for poor white trash, not for the aristocracy of the South.”
There was a sad, mocking tone in her husky voice. “I was nearly thirty when I met Henry and we married. My mother was mortified. A Yankee!” She smiled poignantly. “If I’d had a baby to hold, perhaps I wouldn’t have been so lost, so angry when he died.”
“I’m very sorry.” Lily’s voice was little more than a whisper. A year ago she wouldn’t have understood, but now she understood all too well. What if she had found Quint in peacetime, and they had planned a future together only to have it ripped away?
“Perhaps, since I’ve bared my soul to you in a most ungracious fashion, you will share with me the reason you haven’t told Quintin that he is about to become a father.” She sounded a bit sheepish about her request, and she was blushing just a little. Lily was certain that was rare for the composed widow.
Lily sighed deeply. She had wondered a thousand times if she’d made the right decision in not telling Quint about the baby. “I love Quint very much, Mrs. Slocum. But we came together in uncertain times, on opposite sides of this conflict. Sometimes I wonder if his feelings for me were real or a mirage. When this is all over, when the war comes to an end, I’ll know. If Quint comes to me, I’ll know. If he doesn’t…. ” Lily shrugged her shoulders, trying to appear nonchalant. “If he doesn’t, then it was all a fancy and I’ll have to get on with my life as best I can.”
She lifted her eyes to Eleanor Slocum and buried the emotions that roiled inside her. “I won’t trap Quint with a baby. I’ll love him for the rest of my life, but I won’t hold him that way. You know how damned noble he can be.”
The widow smiled. “I’m beginning to see what Quintin saw in you. There was a time when I wondered, but you’re not the witless girl you pretended to be. He saw through that, you know.”
“I know.”
“If you and I weren’t enemies, Mrs. Tyler, we might have been friends.”
Lily smiled sadly, but her smile faded as she laid a hand over her stomach.
“Are you all right?”
“He’s kicking.” Lily held her hands over her taut belly, wondering how on earth she was going to get any bigger. By her calculations, she had almost two months to go.
Eleanor Slocum rose from her seat, rising like a silver-gray cloud. She floated across the floor to stand before Lily, and to look down at her stomach. There was such a look of longing in the widow’s eyes that it broke Lily’s heart.
Lily reached out and took Eleanor Slocum’s hands. Without thinking, she placed the woman’s hands over her belly, and they waited silently. Then the baby moved again, and Eleanor’s gloomy look changed to one of wonder.
“I think that’s an elbow,” Lily whispered.
They stood in that position, Lily seated on the loveseat, Eleanor Slocum bent over her with her hands pressed lightly to Lily’s distended midsection, Lily’s hands over the widow’s, for several minutes. It was as if time were suspended, and the soft light that danced through the window lit Eleanor Slocum’s face. Lily saw hope beneath the sorrow and felt a wave of serenity wash over her.
And then the spell was broken, and Eleanor Slocum pulled away as Lily lifted her hands.
“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Tyler.” The widow actually blushed a bright red. “That was most improper of me.”
Lily smiled. “I’ve never cared much for what was proper and what was not, Mrs. Slocum. I don’t intend to start at this late date.”
Eleanor Slocum turned to leave, composed once more.
“Well,” she said in a surprisingly strong voice. “I’ve seen what I came to see, Mrs. Tyler, though I must admit you’ve managed to surprise me.”
Her back was ramrod straight, her shoulders thrust back as she walked away from Lily.
“Mrs. Slocum.” Lily rose slowly, one hand on the arm of the loveseat, one on her belly. “If you see Quint…. ”
Eleanor Slocum spun around, and her appearance was calm once more. But Lily saw fire in her eyes. “I won’t say a word to anyone, Mrs. Tyler. Your secret is safe with me. But when Quintin Tyler comes for you—and he will come for you—hold onto him for dear life. Don’t ever let him go.”
Lily felt a grain of hope when she heard the widow’s confident words. At least one of them was certain of Quint’s
intentions.
“If he does come for me, you can be assured that I won’t ever let him out of my sight again.”
“If, if, if.” Eleanor Slocum waved a delicate hand in the air. “Really, Mrs. Tyler, insecurity does not become you.”
With that, Eleanor Slocum turned on her heel in a swirl of silver gray and marched through the door. Lily heard the front door open and close, then heard the widow’s retreating footsteps on the walkway.
“I’m not insecure,” Lily whispered to the empty room. “I’m just… practical.”
Quint sat his bay and surveyed the line of soldiers snaking along the road ahead of him. It would soon be over. Richmond, the capital of the Confederacy, would soon be in Union hands. The Rebs they’d been fighting were hungry, and poorly clothed and armed. They were an army on its last legs.
There was a customary frown on his bearded face. He’d tried to leave Lily behind, but she was always with him… in battle and in times like this, when his thoughts turned to the future.
He reached into the pocket of his uniform jacket and withdrew the sheet of paper that had been folded and refolded a hundred times or more. He looked down at the single word, written in a well-formed script of sweeping letters.
Yes.
The ache in his heart longed for more. Was she well? Did she think of him at all? Why did she remain on the island when the venture that had taken her there had ended?
Still, the single word told him all he needed to know. Lily was there.
“Captain Tyler.” His name and the pounding of quickly approaching hoof beats roused him from his reverie, and he returned the letter to his pocket.
The private who drew up beside him handed over a plain envelope. “From Colonel Fairfax, Captain,” the young private said as he placed the envelope into Quint’s hand.
Quint dismissed the soldier and looked down at the missive. What now? He’d done his part for the secret service, and wanted no more of it.
He tore open the envelope and whipped out the single sheet of paper. Quint’s grimace turned into a wry smile as he recognized Eleanor Slocum’s handwriting.
Yes, yes, and yes, you fool. I hope you make a better husband than you did a spy.
There was no signature, but the sweeping penmanship was unmistakable. Did this mean what he thought, what he hoped it meant? Was Lily waiting for him?
He folded the letter neatly and placed it in his pocket with the others.
Yes, yes, and yes.
Twenty-Six
It was over.
Quint had been present when Lee surrendered, had watched as that general’s troops had laid down their weapons and gone home. There had been no shouts of victory that day, nor any cries of defeat. Rather, the field had been cloaked in a reverential stillness, a hush that had touched even the most hate-filled soldier.
That had been more than one month past. The Union was preserved, but Lincoln was dead. The Rebel soldiers had been sent home, and Quint was filled with relief that it was over, and with uncertainty as well. There was still a lot of hate between the two sides.
There was an advantage to being an ex-secret service agent, Quint discovered. Colonel Fairfax was able to discover for him the fate of his brother, Dalton. Colonel Dalton Tyler, C.S.A., was alive. The plantation still stood, though it was likely not the home he remembered. There had been too many changes.
Alicia was there, along with both of Quint’s sisters, waiting for Dalton’s return. Perhaps she had fallen in love with Dalton after all.
And perhaps one day, when old wounds had healed, Quint could take Lily to Mississippi to make peace with his family. A year ago, he wouldn’t have thought it possible, but now it seemed important.
Colonel Holt, a barrel-chested officer who was fond of foul-smelling cigars and cheap whiskey, stopped in front of Quint’s tent, where Quint sat on the ground, lost in thought.
“Still determined to leave us, son?” the colonel asked in a booming voice. “Can’t convince you to come out West with me and fight the Injuns?”
Quint leapt to his feet. The colonel had caught him by surprise, and he felt as if he’d been yanked to the present, leaving behind thoughts of Lily and plans for the days to come.
“No, thank you, sir.” Quint ran his fingers through his shoulder-length hair, sweeping the strands away from his face. There had been little time for the amenities in the past several months, and he had neither shaved nor cut his hair since the morning he’d put Lily on Captain Dennison’s steamer. “I’ve had enough of fightin’ for a while.”
Colonel Holt looked as if he’d expected no other answer. He’d been trying for several weeks to convince Quint to stay with the cavalry, but the answer was always the same.
“Man like you, Tyler, you’ll be bored in six months with no one to fight with but the missus.”
Quint grinned, a rare smile. “Bored? I don’t think so, sir. Lily fights back.”
The Colonel laughed and slapped his leg. “Good for her. So, what do you plan to do with yourself, besides fight with Mrs. Tyler?”
“I was thinking of getting into the shipping business, sir. A base in Nassau, one in San Francisco, maybe one in Liverpool.”
“Grand plans, Captain,” Colonel Holt said with a nod. “But I still say you’ll be bored in six months.”
Quint knew better than to argue with the Colonel. The cavalry was Holt’s career, and the gleam in his eyes told of his excitement at the prospect of heading west. Quint couldn’t imagine anyone looking forward to more violence after what the country had just been through, but Colonel Holt was not alone.
“You got a brood, Captain?” Colonel Holt leaned forward, hands clasped behind his back. “Little Tylers?”
“Not yet, sir.” Quint smiled crookedly again. Children. His and Lily’s. He wondered, not for the first time, if either of their last nights together had resulted in a child. He would love to go home and find Lily sitting in the parlor, her stomach swollen and her face glowing. He shook his head. Of course, that wasn’t meant to be. Eleanor would have mentioned it to him in her letter if Lily had been in the family way.
Colonel Holt gave up on him with a dismissive wave of his hand. Quint was damn tired of Army life. In another month he would be discharged, and then he would concern himself with starting that family.
Quint crawled into his tent and lay on his back, hands behind his head, ankles crossed. He had such plans for the future, such dreams. Eleanor’s last message had given him hope, but there was no assurance that Lily would still be in Nassau when he returned, no assurance that she would want him back.
But deep inside, beneath the doubts and the fears, was the unshakable knowledge that Lily was his wife, his woman, and with the war behind them, the future was clear. So he closed his eyes and dreamt of her. He dreamt soft, comforting dreams of Lily.
Lily paced slowly, despite Cora’s repeated attempts to force her to lie down. It was time. The pangs had started that morning, spaced far apart and mild in nature, but as the day progressed, the pains came closer together and became much harder. Even now, as Lily stopped to wait out a contraction, beads of sweat formed on her face.
Soon she would have no choice but to lie down.
The war had been over for more than a month. The news had reached them weeks after Lee’s surrender, and since that day Lily had been waiting for Quint to appear at the door.
“Where the hell have you been, Quintin Tyler?” Lily asked under her breath.
“What’s that?” Cora nearly jumped out of her skin when Lily spoke. The great aunt-to-be was more visibly nervous than Lily herself, wringing her hands and holding her breath with each contraction Lily suffered through.
“You can send Tommy for Mrs. Pratt now,” Lily conceded. Cora had wanted to send for the midwife hours earlier, but Mrs. Pratt, a mother of eight who had delivered countless babies in Nassau, had told Lily what to expect. Hours of waiting.
Each pain was sharper, harder, and in spite of herself, Lily began to worry.
Could she do this? Alone? Quint should be here, beside her, holding her hand, sweating with her.
Lily was in the bed, bolstered by a mountain of pillows, when Mrs. Pratt arrived. The midwife could have been forty or sixty, with her soft gray hair and lean frame. She held herself like a younger woman, back straight and shoulders back, but there were deep lines etched in her face, lines that spoke of years of sun and many days of wide smiles.
“There now, Miss Lily,” Mrs. Pratt said as she directed one of those wide smiles at Lily’s distended belly. “How are you feeling?”
Lily gave the woman a look that would have made a lesser person step back. It was a look she had once reserved for her crew and, on occasion, Quintin Tyler. Sweat dripped down her strained face, and with an impatient hand, Lily brushed back the hair that fell forward and stuck to her forehead and her temples.
“How the hell do you think I feel, you moron?”
“Lily!” Cora gasped.
But Mrs. Pratt continued to smile sweetly. “That’s all right, Miss Lily. I’ve been called worse. Much worse. And I imagine you’ll call me something more menacing than a moron before the night is done.”
Within minutes of the midwife’s arrival, Cora had to leave the room. It was too much for her to bear, to see Lily in such pain. She joined Tommy, who was pacing in the hallway, and they waited, listening with pounding hearts and withheld breaths as Lily screamed. Again and again.
Tommy cursed between screams. He vowed to find Quintin Tyler, wherever he might be, and rip the man’s liver out. See how he liked it. He swore that if it had not been for that man, Lily wouldn’t be in such pain, and if she died… if she died, he would hunt Quintin Tyler to the grave, if need be.
They stopped pacing as another scream filled the house. It couldn’t go on much longer. Cora didn’t know how Lily found the strength to scream, after the day she’d been through. The cry died away, and they heard Lily shout at the top of her lungs,
“Bloody hell!”
“Bloody hell!” Quintin woke as he cried out in his sleep, shooting up into a sitting position in the darkness of his tent. For a moment, he sat there, dazed. What had awakened him? His own voice?
In Enemy Hands Page 27