After a period of awkward silence, John laughed aloud, rather ruefully, saying, “I guess you think I’m the world’s worst coward.”
“Why—!”
“Oh, don’t mind saying it, Grace,” he said, turning to face her, and she saw that he was embarrassed. “Well, I’ll tell you right out, I’d rather be thrown into a den of rattlesnakes than meet this woman!”
“But, John—why?”
He struggled with his thoughts, then shrugged helplessly. “Hard to say.” He studied the landscape, letting the horses find their own pace. There was a fineness in his face that Grace had always admired. It was more than just handsome features; it was a clean decency that she appreciated and respected.
He turned and met her eyes, then smiled. “Crazy, isn’t it? I’ve been crying like a baby for weeks, wanting to know who I am. And now that the chance has come…I’m trembling!”
“Perhaps the sight of one you—of one you love—” Grace stumbled over the phrase, then recovered. “Well, it might make thee remember.”
He shook his head doubtfully. “It’s possible, I guess. I’ve been seeing more faces, sometimes in dreams, sometimes in my mind when I’m awake. I’m sure they’re people I must have known. One of them came to me last night. It was a woman, and she was beautiful—older than you are, Grace, but with the same kind of gentleness.”
“What did she look like, John?”
“She had auburn hair, with some gray in it. And the most striking eyes I’ve ever seen,” he marveled. “If I were a painter, I could paint her picture!”
“Maybe thy mother?”
“Could be. I wish I knew. The thing is, these things are coming back more often—and a lot clearer. If I just had time—!”
Grace longed to help him but could find no words. Finally she asked, “Why did thee want me to come with thee, John? You aren’t really so afraid to meet a mere woman.”
He grinned wryly. “Oh, I don’t know…just for company, I guess.” He fell silent, then added, “I needed you. That’s all I can say, Grace.”
His simple words warmed her, and she thought, If I never have more than this—I can hold it and remember it all my life!
Aloud she asked, “Does thee want me there when she comes?”
“Yes!”
“She may find it strange.”
“We’ll tell her you’re my keeper,” he said, grinning. “Maybe she’ll think I’m a lunatic out of the asylum for a little break. That should send her back in a hurry. She won’t want a madman for a husband.”
Grace saw that he was speaking lightly to cover the apprehension inside and helped him by joining in the frivolous talk.
They got to town an hour before the train was due, and John drove to the town’s only hotel and reserved a room. When the clerk asked what name, he hesitated, then said, “Mrs. Leota Richards.”
“Very well, sir.”
When he had signed the register, John led Grace out of the lobby and they went to a café. He ordered coffee for himself and cocoa for Grace. They sat there for half an hour, speaking about everything in the world but the matter that had brought them to town. Finally he rose abruptly. “Let’s walk around, Grace.”
“All right.”
They walked back and forth, looking in the windows of the few stores along the street, and finally the sound of a distant whistle drew their attention.
“There it is!” he said, expelling his breath. “Let’s go get it over with.”
They walked toward the station, then stood on the platform until the engine pulled alongside, gusting great clouds of steam. The brakes ground until the train stopped, and then the conductor stepped down and began to assist people to make the long step to the ground.
There were only six passengers who got off, and of those, only one seemed to be the one they sought.
“I think that must be her, John,” Grace said, nodding toward a woman who had stopped and was looking around.
John nodded, set his jaw, and said, “Come along, Grace.” He took her arm so tightly that it hurt, and the two of them approached the woman. She was short and rather heavy—not really fat, but full figured. She turned to them instantly, and Grace saw that she was not particularly attractive. She had a pair of sharp black eyes and a narrow nose that gave her a predatory look. Her lips were firm but were set in a closemouthed expression.
“Mrs. Leota Richards?”
“Yes.” The woman said no more, though both Grace and John expected her to show some sort of emotion. She studied the pair before her and then said, “Is there a place for me to stay?”
“Why—yes,” John said hastily. “Which is your bag? I’ve taken a room for you at the hotel.”
“The black one.”
John took the bag and nodded toward the buildings that marked the town. “It’s this way.” He realized suddenly that the woman was staring at Grace and said hastily, “This is Miss Grace Swenson. She was one of the nurses at the hospital who took care of me.”
“I see. And do you live here, Miss Swenson?”
“No, I live on a farm about ten miles from town, Mrs. Richards.” Grace felt the gaze of the woman’s piercing eyes and added quickly, “When John had to leave the hospital, he had no place to go, so he came to stay with my family.”
“Very kind of you.”
An awkward silence fell, and after a few steps, John asked inanely, “Did—did you have a good trip?”
“Yes. It was very comfortable.”
Grace saw that John’s brow was covered with perspiration despite the cool air and knew that he was somewhat desperate. He expected the woman to identify him at once—and she says nothing! What kind of a woman can she be?
Somehow they got to the hotel, Grace filling the silence with small talk about the weather. But when they finally reached the woman’s room, John asked, “Can we talk?”
“Certainly. Come inside.” Mrs. Richards stepped into the room but gave Grace a forbidding look. “If you don’t mind, Miss Swenson, I’d like to speak privately.”
“Why, of course!”
John gave her a rather desperate glance but nodded. “Wait in the restaurant, Grace.”
Grace nodded, and when the door shut, John turned to face the woman. She was pulling off her coat calmly. “It’s rather cold in this room, isn’t it?”
Ignoring her remark, he demanded, “Well—?”
But she forestalled his demand, saying, “Sit down, please. I want to hear your story.”
John hesitated, then surrendered. He sat down and began to speak. The woman listened to him, not taking her eyes from his face. He could not tell one thing about what was going on inside her heart, for she let nothing show in her features.
Finally he finished, saying, “So I have no idea of my past, none at all.”
“You don’t recognize me?”
“N–no, I don’t!”
She sat quietly in her chair, then said evenly, “Your name is Matthew Richards. You’re my husband.”
A great emptiness suddenly swept through John, and he felt as powerless to speak as if he’d been struck in the pit of his stomach. She watched his face grow pale, then asked, “Don’t you remember me at all, Matt?”
“I…don’t think so.”
Mrs. Richards studied him carefully. “It’s a strange thing. It must be terrible for you.” She began to speak, telling him of his family and of his past. After a time she rose and came to stand beside him. “We’ll be very patient, Matt,” she said. Then she asked, “Do you need to go back to the place you’ve been living, or can we catch the next train home?”
He licked his lips, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m confused.” He felt short of breath and somehow was terribly afraid, more so than he’d been since he’d come back from the darkness that had swallowed him.
Suddenly he knew that he had to get away! Just for a few minutes! “Look, I’ll leave you here to rest up,” he babbled desperately. “I—I need some time alone. You understand.” He
made a dive at the door and left her, saying, “I’ll be back soon!”
He stumbled down the stairs and found Grace seated in the lobby. “Come on!” he cried hoarsely. “Let’s get out of here!”
Grace rose at once, and the two of them left the hotel. He said, “Get in the buggy,” then helped her in and climbed into the seat beside her. He whipped the horses up, and they snorted at that unexpected treatment, bolting forward and splashing mud on a large man, who turned and cursed them roundly as they went flying down the street.
When they were clear of the town, John let the horses run until they slowed of their own will. He sat there, his face pale, saying nothing. Grace remained silent.
The bustle of the town faded, and soon they were plodding along the muddy road, surrounded by the quietness of the countryside. The trees were naked and bare, and the raw earth of plowed fields peeped through breaks in the snow.
On and on they drove, and Grace thought, It’s a good thing I’m a Quaker and accustomed to silence! It must have been dreadful for him!
Finally he took a deep breath and turned to her. “Sorry to act like this, Grace,” he muttered. “I just had to get away for a few minutes.”
“It’s all right,” Grace murmured. “What did she tell thee, John?”
“She says I’m Matthew Richards, her husband.”
Grace had been prepared for this, for she had sensed that he would not have reacted so violently had the woman said otherwise—and yet she was stunned by the pain that shot through her to hear him say the words. “Tell me about it, John,” she said, forcing her voice to be steady and calm.
He spoke quickly but jerkily as he recounted the meeting, ending by saying moodily, “She’s absolutely certain I’m her husband.”
Grace had listened carefully, but somehow she was troubled. “John, I need some time to pray.”
“Why, of course!” John was surprised but said no more. He allowed the horses to pick their way down the muddy road for half an hour, sitting silently beside Grace as she sought the Lord. Then she turned and said firmly, “Go back to the hotel.”
“What?”
“Go back to the hotel.”
He stared at her, then nodded. “I guess I’ve got to face up to this thing.”
“God has given me a word.”
“What?” Confusion caused him to blink. He had heard the expression several times among the Quakers but had never understood it. “What does that mean?”
“It means that God has spoken to me.”
“About me, and about—her?”
“Yes. Turn the buggy around.”
He stared at her, then shrugged. “All right, Grace.”
She said nothing as they made their return trip, and he was too depressed to make conversation. When they got back to the hotel, she said, “Let’s go to her room.”
He tied the horses, and the two of them climbed the stairs. When he tapped on the door, it opened almost at once. Mrs. Richards had a half smile on her face, but it died when she saw Grace.
Grace stepped inside, practically forcing herself past the woman. John stepped in after her, and the woman closed the door and turned to face them.
Grace met the woman’s gaze squarely and spoke with quiet confidence. “Mrs. Richards, I do not think this man is thy husband!”
John’s mouth dropped open, and he took a sharp breath. He was watching the woman’s face and saw quick anger come to her sharp eyes.
“Are you telling me I don’t know my own husband?” Mrs. Richards demanded shrilly.
“I think thee does know thy own husband, but thee is deceiving this man. He is not thy husband.”
“Get out of here! Matthew, get this woman out of my room!”
“I’d sort of like to hear what she has to say,” John remarked. He turned to Grace and studied her carefully. “What makes you so sure I’m not married to her?”
Grace didn’t answer his question. Instead she faced the woman and said evenly, “How long does thee say this man has been thy husband?”
“Twelve years!”
“And how many children has thee had by him?”
“Three! Do you think I could make a mistake about a man I’ve been married to for that long?”
“If thee will answer one simple question, I will admit he is thy husband.”
Mrs. Richards glared at Grace suspiciously. “What question?”
“The purple birthmark on thy husband’s side—is it shaped like an egg or like a cat’s paw?”
A dead silence fell on the room. Mrs. Richards stared at Grace, then at the man beside her. Defiantly she said, “Like a cat’s paw!”
John’s face broke out in a broad smile, and he said, “Well, it’s been nice to meet you, Mrs. Richards. You can catch the next train to Gettysburg at six this evening.” He put his hat on and took Grace’s arm firmly.
He paused long enough to speak to Mrs. Richards. “The birthmark is shaped like a star, and it’s on my back, not my side.”
Mrs. Richard’s face had lost all color. She glared at Grace, then hissed, “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? I knew you were after him from the minute I set eyes on you!” She began to curse them both as they walked from the room, and they could hear her as they marched down the stairs.
He helped her into the buggy, barely pausing as he took up the reins and slapped the horses into action. When they were safely out of town, John turned and took her hands in one of his. “Grace, how did you know? And why in the world did she ever come and make such a claim?”
“I suspected when we met her,” Grace said quietly. “No woman who loved her husband could be so cool when she saw him after thinking he might be dead. Either she was lying, or she had never loved thee.”
Relief showed in his face, and he laughed out loud. “Who could help loving me?” he demanded. “And why did she try such a crazy thing?”
“I think she took a chance that thee would never remember anything. She wants a husband so badly that she did all this to get one.”
He abruptly threw his arms around her and hugged her. “Oh, Grace! I feel like I’ve been let out of jail!”
She lay crushed against his chest, unable to keep the grin from her own features. Finally she pushed him away and admonished him with a tremulous smile, “Don’t be so conceited.”
But he didn’t release her immediately. He kept his arms around her for one moment longer, then let her go. “My good angel, Grace,” he whispered gently. Then he said quietly, “I knew that woman wasn’t my wife.”
“Really, John? How did thee know that?”
He reached out and stroked her cheek. “Because,” he said slowly, “I didn’t feel about her…as I do about you.”
Swift color filled Grace’s face, and her heart constricted painfully. Could he possibly mean…? “Thee—thee shouldn’t speak so!” Her voice was unsteady and breathless.
John Smith shook his head, pulled the horses to a stop, and dropped the reins. Reaching out, he put his arms around her and drew her close. Grace’s eyes grew alarmed, and she cried out, “John—!”
But he ignored her protest. His eyes were fixed on her face and filled with a tender determination. “I love thee, Grace Swenson!” he whispered, then pulled her into his embrace, kissing her thoroughly.
His touch stirred impulses in Grace that she hadn’t known were within her, and she felt as though her heart would burst with the joy that swept through her at his words. A small part of her mind scolded her, telling her she should push him away…but she ignored it blissfully.
Finally he released her, but he held her gaze, letting her see for herself the intensity of his love for her. He reached up to touch her face gently, and when he spoke, his voice was strong and deep. “I don’t know who I am or where I’m going, but I know one thing full well. And that is that I love thee, Grace. For now, that is enough.”
Three days later, Grace stood beside John at the depot. The conductor called out, “All aboard!” and he turned and
held her in a tight embrace.
“John—!” she whispered, holding him fiercely.
He kissed her, then said, “Don’t forget, I love thee!” He had said it that way often the past three days, which had stirred both happiness and sorrow in her. Happiness that they had discovered such a wondrous love; sadness that they both knew the future was blank and they could make no plans.
But now as he tore himself from her and climbed the steps of the train, she felt a pang of loneliness such as she’d never known. As the train lurched and left the station, she caught a glimpse of his face and waved.
He loves me! she thought, and as she turned and walked away, she bit her lips to keep them steady. I love thee, too—and I’ll never love another!
As she climbed into the buggy and started her homeward journey, the train whistle sounded—a lonesome, haunting wail that echoed plaintively on the stillness of the air.
CHAPTER 16
INTO THE VALLEY OF DEATH
The battle of Fredericksburg should never have been fought.
The Army of the Potomac was shoved into the suicidal attempt by a man who had endeavored to refuse the command of the army and who had to be directly ordered to assume that post by the president.
Major General Ambrose E. Burnside was a man with incredible whiskers, who moved from disaster to disaster with an uncomprehending and wholly unimaginative dignity. He had wooed a Kentucky girl and taken her to the altar, only to be flabbergasted when she returned a firm no to the officiating minister’s climactic question. (The same girl later became engaged to an Ohio lawyer who had heard about Burnside’s experience. When the wedding date arrived, this man displayed to her a revolver and a marriage license, telling her that she could choose one or the other. This time she went through with the ceremony.)
Burnside quickly won the admiration of the soldiers, for he showed a great concern for their well-being, always poking his nose into mess shacks, sampling the food, and checking on supplies. In a way, this revealed his tragic flaw, for he needed to be studying strategy and tactics in order to meet Robert E. Lee, not tasting soup!
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