by Diaz, Debra
Catherine replied absently, wishing it were permissible to tell one’s elders to hush.
There was something queer about the evening, aside from the fact that they’d buried a family member that day. The entire atmosphere of the house seemed galvanized with mysterious currents. For some reason, Catherine felt she had wandered onto a stage where the audience, hidden from view, waited in suspense to see what she would do or say.
She felt she could not bear going into the parlor, so she excused herself immediately after supper. Andrew insisted on accompanying her to her room. At the door he lifted her hand, kissed it, and said solemnly, “Good night, my love.”
She went into her room and locked it, not feeling particularly secure since Andrew had a key. She slept fitfully and woke in the morning determined to spend the day at the hospital. Perhaps she would even spend the night there. Before she could dress, however, there was a light knock on the door.
It was Jessie. “Miss Catherine, Ephraim say to tell you Hester been took sick and can’t cook. And Miss Sallie got a headache.”
“All right, Jessie. I’ll be right down.”
She swiftly put on a worn cotton dress and tied back her hair with a ribbon. When she reached the kitchen, Ephraim had already started cooking breakfast. She went into Hester’s little room at the back of the house. The old woman peered at her over the covers.
“Miz Catherine, my time is nigh.”
“Nonsense, Hester. You know this happens every year. Now let me see.” She touched the wrinkled cheek, finding it dry and cool. “You just rest, Hester, as long as you need to. Is there anything I can get you?”
“Jes’ my Bible.” She struggled to sit up. “I got to read my Bible.”
Catherine looked around, found the worn-looking volume and handed it to her. She lit the lamp beside the bed and moved quietly from the room.
Hester did indeed come down with a strange malady around the same time every year. She never exhibited any symptoms other than malaise and a conviction that she was dying. It lasted several days, then she would simply rise up and begin going about her chores again.
“Ephraim,” said Catherine, “if you’ll do the cooking today, I’ll help Jessie with everything else.”
“Yes, Miss Catherine.”
The morning and early afternoon sped by, with laundry to sort, rooms to dust, floors to sweep. She was outside beating the dust out of a rug when she looked up to see Andrew standing at the back door, watching her.
“Catherine, I want you to go for a ride with me,” he said. “I have something to tell you.”
Something about the way he spoke made her heart drop like a stone. “Andrew, I can’t possibly. I—”
“It can’t wait. Please come and get into the carriage.”
“All right,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll just take this back inside.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Catherine took the rug into the house and handed it to Jessie. “Tell Ephraim I’ve gone for a ride with Mr. Andrew.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smoothed her hair and tried to prepare herself mentally. She didn’t think she was going to like what Andrew had to say.
The carriage sat hitched to the horses but without a driver. “Where’s Tad?” she asked, as Andrew helped her in.
“He’s coming.” He climbed in beside her and closed the door. In a moment the vehicle moved forward and rolled out into the street.
Neither of them spoke. She realized they were leaving the main part of town, going out on a country road. Her uneasiness increased. Several abandoned logging roads ran here and there into the woods.
“Why are we coming out here?” she asked.
“I want a quiet place where we can’t be overheard.”
The carriage turned down one of the logging roads, traveled some distance, and stopped. Still Andrew said nothing. Catherine wondered if she would be able to hear him through the tumultuous thudding in her ears.
Finally he turned to her, and there was something like dread in his expression. It only heightened her feeling of doom.
“I’ve been doing some investigating of your Major Pierce. I suppose you know that until very recently he was a newspaper writer. He rose rather fast in the ranks, don’t you think?”
She endeavored to look disinterested. “Maybe he went to West Point or the Military Institute here in Virginia. They get fast promotions, don’t they? And why do you call him my major?”
He paused, and then said softly, “I had hoped you would be truthful with me, Catherine. I had hoped you would save us both a lot of pain.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Clayton Pierce is a Yankee spy.”
She stared at him. “That’s ridiculous!” she answered, but fear gave a rough edge to her voice. Was he about to prove the one thing in all the world that she could not bear?
A deep and barely hidden anger emanated from the man next to her. “I know everything. Miranda told me. She heard you telling Ephraim.” He gave a disgusted oath. “You believed him! A man who came here to deceive you, to pretend to be me! You married him!”
Catherine’s mouth had gone so dry she couldn’t speak.
“Open your eyes, Catherine! He’s been deceiving you all along. That’s part of his job. He used you to get information from Bart— crucial information about supplies. He is the mysterious leader of this group, and none of them even knew it. He’s been moving them around like…like pieces in a game of chess.”
“No,” she said. “No.”
“I know all about him. He’s fooled a lot of people, but I’m going to end it. How do you know he didn’t murder Bart?”
“He didn’t!”
“You were there. You saw what happened.”
She could only shake her head.
“I said I knew everything, but not quite all. Miranda missed some of it…the part where you talked about Bart. She didn’t know he was dead until after the officer came. But I do know you were there, Catherine, the night Bart died. Do you want to know how I know?”
She kept staring at him, mesmerized.
“That cap they found that has so mysteriously disappeared. I went to look at it the day they found Bart. It had a hair inside it. A long, beautiful red hair.”
“I wasn’t…I didn’t…”
“Was Pierce there that night?”
She wouldn’t answer. Her eyes darted around the carriage, landing on the door handle.
He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Was he there?”
She wrenched away from him, edging closer to the door.
Tears came to his eyes. “Oh, Catherine, we could have been happy, you and I. You’ve ruined everything. Your marriage to Pierce is nothing but a sham. You are my wife!”
He reached for her again. She made a lunge for the door, opened it, and jumped down to the ground. She had run only a few feet when she thought to turn around and shout to Tad. To her horror, a man she had never seen before gazed down at her from the driver’s seat.
Her eyes ran rapidly over the landscape. A large clearing spread out in front of her, the stumps of trees protruding a few inches out of the ground. If she made it to the other side she could hide among the trees and perhaps find another road.
She heard Andrew getting out of the carriage. Without turning to look she raced forward, holding her skirts high.
“Stop!” Andrew cried. “I’m not going to hurt you!”
She did not look back; she dared not take her eyes from the ground. She didn’t know if he was pursuing her. She only knew that she would not stay and listen to another word he said.
“Catherine, come back!”
Was his voice closer? She couldn’t tell. She kept running.
She reached the edge of the woods and stopped, trying to think which way to turn. Suddenly she heard a sound crashing through the undergrowth toward her. A horse neighed wildly.
She drew in gulps of air, her hand clutchin
g at a pain in her side. The horse drew closer before she could move, rearing up on its hind legs before her.
A man dismounted and ran to her. He grabbed her and pulled her toward him as she stared in disbelief.
“Clayton,” she gasped. “Clayton!”
“Are you hurt?” he demanded. “Where’s Kelly?”
“I ran away from him. He was saying things—”
A shot rang through the air, the bullet so close Catherine could hear the whine as it passed her ear. Instantly Clayton jerked her up and pushed her against a tree. Standing behind the tree next to her, he drew out his pistol.
They heard Andrew yell, “Stop shooting, you fool! Clayton Pierce, I know you’re there! I see your horse. I am unarmed.”
Clayton didn’t move. “Catherine, how many men?” he asked tersely.
“Two. Just Andrew and the driver.”
“Where’s your driver?” Clayton shouted.
“He’s here, behind me.”
“Tell him to drop his weapon.”
“Jennings, drop your gun!” Clayton moved out slightly so he could see. Catherine, too, peeked cautiously around the tree. Andrew stood in the middle of the clearing, his hands spread at his sides. Some distance behind him the driver had flung his pistol to the ground and stood scowling at them.
“He’s just a hired man,” Andrew said. “I’ll explain about him later, Catherine. I’m going to have to kill you, Pierce, but not here. Not in front of my wife.”
Clayton stepped out, keeping his pistol leveled on Andrew. “We’re going to solve this, Kelly, once and for all.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Andrew stood motionless. Clayton ran his hands briefly over the man’s clothing, looking for weapons. He found none.
“Catherine, stay there,” he ordered, making Andrew walk in front of him toward the carriage and telling him to get in first. Then—it happened so fast Catherine barely saw it. Jennings’s hand slipped inside his boot and withdrew clasping the hilt of a knife. Clayton must have seen him out of the corner of his eye, for his gun swung toward the man almost instantaneously. There was a shot and a puff of smoke, and Jennings struck the ground with a heavy thud.
“Catherine, come here,” Clayton called. “Bring my horse.”
Unable to mount the huge beast, Catherine rather timidly caught the reins and walked the horse toward the carriage. When she reached it, she could see Andrew sitting inside, glaring at Clayton. “Hand me that rope, please, Catherine. Kelly, get out.”
Andrew got out of the carriage. He kept his eyes on Catherine, who held the pistol while Clayton tied his hands behind his back.
“I tried to tell you about him,” he said quietly. “Why won’t you believe me? He’s going to kill me, just as he did Ingram, and Jennings there. I brought him along to protect us from Pierce.”
Clayton laughed shortly. “It was a good try, Kelly. But it’s over.” He tugged at the body on the ground, hoisting it up and dumping it into the carriage. “Get in,” he said. “See how you like riding with a dead man.”
Andrew climbed back in, and Clayton slammed the door shut. He looked at Catherine. “Ride back to the road. Ephraim’s waiting there on a horse. When you left, he followed the carriage for a while but lost you when you turned onto this road. He went back, hoping to find me or some other officer, when I ran into him. I was on my way to the Henderson’s. He told me you were attacked, and he said he felt uneasy about your riding out with Andrew. He led me out here and showed me the spot where he lost sight of the carriage. I kept looking until I found you.”
She flung her arms around him. “Oh, Clayton, I thought he was going to kill me!”
He held her close for a moment. “Everything’s going to be all right now. We’re going back to the Henderson’s. Here, get on the horse. Don’t be afraid of him…he won’t throw you.”
Clayton helped her up. She looked down from the great height, her skirts spread out in an unladylike manner. “Oh, my,” she said, hanging on to the pommel.
“You’ll be fine. I’ll be right behind you.”
The horse seemed to move of its own accord, as though sensing her indecision. She heard the squeak of the carriage as Clayton climbed up and slapped the reins.
The carriage had not gone far down the logging road. Soon she reached the main road, where Ephraim waited patiently on a horse. His worried face broke into a wide grin when he saw her.
“Miss Catherine, thank the Lord! Mr. Clayton told me to stay here no matter what, and I heard two gunshots. I been beseeching the Lord till I’m about to give out!”
“Well, you saved me, Ephraim. You and the Lord.”
“Mostly Him,” Ephraim said humbly. “Is that Mr. Clayton driving? My eyesight’s not so good anymore. Where’s Mr. Andrew?”
“Inside the carriage.”
“Who was driving before? He didn’t take Tad or Joseph either one. That’s one thing that scared me.”
“I don’t know who the man was. He’s…dead.”
Ephraim’s brow stretched upward but he said nothing more. By the time they reached the Henderson home through the city traffic, it had grown almost dark. Clayton drove into the carriage house, opened the door, and told Andrew to get out.
Andrew obeyed. He had an implacable look on his face, as though he considered the matter far from over.
Catherine and the butler preceded them into the house. Seeing lights in the parlor, they entered it together.
“Ephraim, where have you been!” came Sallie’s angry voice. “And why is this woman here? I—”
She stopped as Andrew came in, his hands still bound behind him. Her eyes moved to Clayton, becoming enormous.
“Martin, what is going on?” She took a step backward and clutched at her husband’s arm. Miranda, a jumble of snarled knitting in her hands, peered around them as if trying to hide.
“Andrew?” said Martin in a questioning tone.
Andrew gave a rather sour smile. “It seems there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Catherine saw Mrs. Shirley standing in the back of the room by the fireplace. She returned Catherine’s stare imperviously.
Clayton observed the look. “Mrs. Shirley was with me when I met Ephraim. I sent her over here in case Kelly brought you back, Catherine. I didn’t want you alone with him, not after the things we found out.”
“Lies,” Andrew said, his teeth clenched in anger. “Don’t listen to him, Catherine.”
“We can trace you back to several months ago,” Clayton said. He had replaced his gun in its belt and leaned a little back against the wall, his arms folded. “You were living in a rental house just outside the city. You rarely went out or saw anyone. You were the leader of a select group, hired by a man who was originally on General Burnside’s staff.”
Catherine sat down abruptly. Clayton’s revelations were not what she had expected to hear. Everyone else remained standing as though spellbound, looking from Clayton to Andrew.
“This man paid you for information about the Confederacy…troop movements, numbers, supplies. You set up the group. You located someone you thought could get you the information the North wanted. You found someone to relay the information to Bart, who wrote it out in code and found ways to get it to the Yankees.