Shelter from the Storm

by Patricia Rice

  Laura heard the pain and sorrow in the doctor’s voice that his words didn’t reveal. After Kate’s death, Cash had been all the family he had. Now he was truly alone. She gently touched his hand.

  “He’ll be back, won’t he?” She said it with as much promise as question, both seeking and giving reassurance.

  The doctor shook his head. “Not if he’s smart, he won’t. He’s headed out West, where men are judged by what they do, not who they are. This place won’t ever let him forget that he’s not one of them.”

  Alarm briefly crossed Laura’s face. “But I’m not one of them either. Will I have to go out West?”

  A gentle smile touched his lips as he patted her hand and stood up. “You’ve got a wealthy uncle to look after you, child. Be glad of it. He’ll make you a Kincaid or shoot any man who denies it. Now, smile and think of what you will do with all that money.”

  Chapter 4

  Remembering those words many years later, Laura smiled as grimly as the doctor had the night of the race. That pouch of money Cash had won for her had taken her out of Stone Creek as certainly as his winnings had taken Cash. Not knowing where or how to spend such an enormous sum, she had saved it until that fateful summer when she had turned seventeen.

  Laura glanced over the railing to the Ohio River drifting by. She could see Louisville in the distance. Almost halfway home. She tried not to remember those last painful days when she had fled the safety and security of Stone Creek for the humiliation of Cairo, Illinois, but the journey from Cairo to home was a long and tedious one, and she had nothing better to do than think.

  At the river landing in Louisville, Laura accepted the offer of a carriage ride from a matronly woman and reached the train station with time to spare. The soaring heights of the L&N depot made no impression on her as she fought off memories of that last trip through here as a terrified, determined seventeen- year-old.

  Four years had brought maturity but little else. The whole country had gone to war and torn itself asunder while she sat in a tiny country town and sewed garments for other people. Her only strong memory of those years was humiliation, and she had plenty of that to spare.

  Taking her seat on the train, Laura straightened her widow’s veil and politely tried to adjust her position on the worn cushions without disturbing the other passengers. The unshaven soldier on the seat opposite jarred painful memories, and she tried not to look at him, not to remember a time when boys had donned those uniforms proudly and bravely. She was not yet twenty-one and still she felt like a decrepit old woman. All that hope had disappeared years ago. All she had left now were memories.

  She closed her eyes and tried to sleep as the others were doing, but the constant rumbling and belching of the train kept her just on the edge of sleep where memories and dreams intermix. She didn’t have the money or even the pride to wear the multitudinous petticoats she had worn that long-ago summer. Her traveling gown clung almost indecently to her knees as she tried to arrange her legs more comfortably. She didn’t care. It was cooler this way, and no one looked twice at a small nondescript widow of uncertain means. There were widows to be had aplenty anymore. Men were the scarcity.

  Laura’s thoughts jerked back to the summer of ’61, when she had worn so many petticoats to her birthday ball that she could scarcely sit down. Sallie had insisted that the hooped crinoline would not be sufficiently graceful for the elegant silk she had been allowed to don for her seventeenth birthday. As always, Laura followed Sallie’s fashion sense, but in the heat of that July evening she began to rebel against her cousin’s strictures.

  It was Laura’s ball, but Sallie still received all of the attention. The guests would arrive and smile politely at Laura and say things like “So you’re seventeen now. My, haven’t you become the lovely young lady,” before taking Sallie’s elbow and going off for an animated chat over the latest gossip. Always cast in Sallie’s shadow, Laura had never learned the trick of prattling about nothing. Sallie did it too well for Laura to even compete.

  Watching her cousin lead off the dancing with Todd Payne while she had to be satisfied with Uncle Matt’s dutiful guidance, Laura vowed she would find a suitor all her own, one who wouldn’t even know Sallie was alive. She smiled dreamily as she imagined her handsome prince walking through that door, his eyes only for her. He would come up to her immediately and sweep her onto the dance floor and not release her until the end of the evening. By that time everyone in attendance would realize how lovely and graceful and charming she was, and they would all regret that they hadn’t taken notice before.

  The fact that she was scarcely five-feet-two and had only thick lengths of pale brown hair to commend her had little to do with Laura’s fantasy. Her eyes had darker, longer lashes than Sallie’s, but who would look close enough at her plain face when he had Sallie’s laughing golden loveliness to admire? But Laura was certain her prince would look beyond her simplicity. Certainly all men wouldn’t be led astray by a pretty face.

  When Ward Breckinridge and several of his companions entered the room wearing the blue and gold of the Seventh Calvary, Laura’s fantasy took a sudden dive. They had looked so dashing and handsome in their tightly tailored coats, their dress shoes polished to a high luster, and their sabers gleaming in the candlelight. Taller than the others, Ward in particular stood out with his captain’s bars and epaulets. Stunned by his new status, Sallie drifted from the young men in plain civilian garb and attached herself to Ward’s elegant arm for the rest of the evening.

  While Sallie admired Ward’s uniform, Laura wondered at the blue color of it. The Breckinridges had more slaves than almost anyone else in Kentucky. Had they really fooled themselves into thinking that if Kentucky remained neutral and their son openly supported the Union that they would be allowed to keep those slaves when the war ended? It seemed a popular misconception, along with the belief that the war could last only a few months.

  Laura had overheard enough to believe Dr. Broadbent was closest to the truth. The Confederacy wouldn’t give up their slaves and way of life until every last one of them was dead, and until the slavery issue was resolved one way or another, there would never be peace.

  Still, she couldn’t help but be drawn to the glory of the Union cause they supported, and they did look exceedingly dashing. With Sallie firmly attached to Ward’s arm, the others were left to play the field, and for a change Laura actually accepted several offers for the requisite birthday dances.

  One of the soldiers was new to her, and his darkly cynical face caught her fancy. He was not so tall or broad-shouldered as the others, but something about his dark eyes and bored attitude held her attention. When she realized he returned her look with interest, she blushed fiercely and smiled up at her current partner.

  Not minutes later Ward was introducing her to Marshall Brown of Cincinnati. He bowed over her hand, gave her that special smile she knew was reserved for her alone, and led her onto the dance floor.

  After that, the evening was the closest thing to heaven that Laura had ever experienced. They talked of everything and nothing while they danced. He took her into protective custody around the crowded refreshment table, securing her cups of punch while hovering at her elbow. They danced some more, and when the ballroom reached stifling proportions, they slipped through the open French doors to walk in the gardens.

  Marshall Brown might be a Northerner, but he was the most enchanting man Laura had ever met. He never once glanced at Sallie, he had little interest in the rowdy drinking of the other young bachelors, and he squired Laura about as if she were precious porcelain. So much attention all at once went straight to her head, making her giddier than strong wine. She even allowed him a brief kiss, reveling in the masculine strength of the arm around her and the faint musky taste of his mouth on hers.

  The scent of faded roses and potted gardenias forever marked that night in her memory. After everyone had retired for the evening, Laura slipped down to the garden to retrieve the petals to press betwe
en her Bible pages.

  Marshall returned the next day and the next. Laura learned his unit wasn’t the same as Ward’s, but neither unit was fully formed or prepared to move out. There was time yet in these last days of summer for moonlight and roses.

  By the end of those two glorious weeks Sallie was formally engaged to Ward, an occasion which produced an endless round of parties. Every night Laura went to bed praying Marshall would speak for her by the next night. His attendance on her at every festivity was remarked, and rumors were already flying. Surely he would speak before he had to march off to war. He had as much as promised already.

  Remembering the night he had won her the scarlet ribbons in the Breckinridges’ rifle shoot, Laura smiled confidently to herself. He had held her in his arms that night, touched her in places she knew were sinful, but he had told her he wanted her, that she was the prettiest girl in the county, and that someday soon she would be his. She knew what that meant, and each day she waited eagerly for Uncle Matt to say Marshall had spoken to him.

  The night that she flew down the stairs in her best rose taffeta with the daring low neckline and Uncle Matt stood at the bottom of the stairs instead of Marshall wasn’t the worst night of her life, but it rated second, surely. Laura glanced around in bewilderment. Marshall had sent her a spray of pink roses to go with her gown, and she was eager to show him the results. Sallie had laced a small posy into the ringlets crimped above one ear, and the others were inserted in the wide sash at her waist. The heady perfume of the roses alleviated the need for artificial scents.

  Uncle Matt took Laura’s arm and led her toward the waiting carriage. Gruffly he tried to explain away her bewilderment. “Your beau has thought it best to join his unit in Louisville. You will meet someone who will be much better for you one of these days.”

  Alarmed rather than comforted, Laura halted and stared up into Uncle Matt’s sympathetic eyes. “Why would he leave without telling me? What happened?”

  Matthew shrugged his heavy shoulders, and taking her elbow, forced her into motion again. “I had a talk with Ward about the man’s family. He’s not our kind, Laura. You can do better. You’ve been looking very well these last weeks, and don’t think it hasn’t been noticed. You’ll be flocked with suitors tonight.”

  Not our kind. The words cut like a knife through places still tender from similar wounds. Her father had been forbidden his home because he chose to marry a Frenchwoman. Cash had had to run away because his mother was a Creole. And now they had forced Marshall to leave for some equally trivial reason. His family probably didn’t date back to Virginia. His antecedents weren’t listed in Lexington’s Blue Book. He didn’t have a dozen aunts and uncles and cousins and second cousins scattered about the Bluegrass like daisies in a field. He wasn’t one of us.

  Well, neither was she. Laura’s eyes flashed fire as she entered the ballroom that night. She danced with every man there and pried information from each one of them. By the time she left that night, she knew the name of Marshall’s unit, where they were currently stationed, where they would be going, and had a vague idea of how to get there. That was all she needed. That, and the pouch of gold stored in her dresser underneath her chemises and pantalets.

  She could carry only a carpetbag of clothing, but she felt confident that Marshall would take care of whatever necessities she had to leave behind. She was prepared to face the fact that he would be gone for months of war. She could wait as long as she knew he would be coming back to her. She didn’t need Stone Creek and its aristocratic inhabitants. She needed love.

  She was sorry to disappoint Uncle Matt and Aunt Ann, but they still had Sallie. They would be better rid of a plain and increasingly rebellious dependent. Like her father, she would run off to be with the one she loved. Laura had only a vague recollection of her parents, but she believed they had been happy.

  She changed trains an enormous number of times. She sat in railroad stations and hired buggies to get from one depot to another before she could even reach Louisville. She had never traveled so far since her father had died, but she couldn’t turn back now. Once she had left the protection of family, she was a lost woman. She had no choice but to keep on going when her arm ached from carrying her bag and her eyes felt gritty from soot and lack of sleep. The trains were crowded with soldiers, but she had the sense to take a seat by the most formidable matrons she could find.

  When she reached Louisville, she discovered Marshall’s unit had already moved out, and resignedly Laura found her way to the steamboat platforms. At least boat travel was a little more elegant than the small-gauge train lines she had been forced to use. She had only to stay in the safety of the ladies’ cabin. The tedium grated on her already frayed nerves, but she concentrated on the happy reunion to come.

  The night she arrived in Cairo, Laura definitely rated as the worst night of her life. It seared her memory with a wound so deep she would never escape the scars of it.

  Cairo was little more than a mosquito-infested mud hole at the convergence of two mighty rivers. Landing on the rickety wharf, her bag at least a hundred pounds heavier than when she started, she stared at the ghastly little town with tears in her eyes. She was hungry, but nowhere looked safe to eat. She was parched with thirst, but she didn’t dare enter one of the taverns littering the street parallel to the river. Her fashionable gray traveling gown had wilted to bedraggled inelegance, and her modest bonnet had lost its feathers along with its starch in the humid river heat. The worst of it all was, she didn’t have any idea where she was going.

  Stone Creek had only one small respectable hotel and a rooming house. She had never dreamed Cairo would be any different. She had thought she could make a few inquiries and then she would be in Marshall’s arms again. That was only one of her many mistakes.

  She gazed down the long street in the deepening twilight and decided she had no alternative but to find a bed to sleep in and look for Marshall in the morning. Out of all the sprawling taverns and bordellos and storefronts, she could see one tall facade with a respectable porch and imitation balcony that might possibly be a hotel. She turned her weary feet in that direction.

  The streets were filled with soldiers and horses. Obviously Marshall’s unit hadn’t left yet. But from the looks of their celebrations, this might be their last night on the town. She had to avoid several overeager young drunks as she wended her way through town.

  When she reached the hotel lobby the clerk regarded her warily, and Laura had to remember her position. A single woman traveling alone and looking for a man not her husband would definitely be an object of suspicion. With a brief flare of her usual humor, she introduced herself.

  “I am Mrs. Marshall Brown. I don’t suppose my husband has chosen this respectable establishment for his abode, has he?”

  The clerk still continued to watch her warily, but when he reached for a room key, Laura’s heart leapt with excitement, and she scarcely noticed his look. She couldn’t believe it. Luck had finally found her! After all these days of misery, she had come home.

  A porter came to claim her bag, and joy carried her tired legs up the stairs. She didn’t even stop to consider the enormity and audaciousness of this step. In her mind, they were already married. The formalities could be met on the morrow. Tonight she would be with Marshall again. She couldn’t wait to see his face when she entered the room.

  To her disappointment, he wasn’t there when the porter unlocked the door for her. She should have expected that, but it deflated her joy. Giving the porter a coin that brought a flashing smile, she closed the door and surveyed the room that would be her wedding chamber.

  It certainly lacked elegance. The cuspidor by the door smelled as if it hadn’t been emptied or cleaned since it had been placed there. She couldn’t tell what color the curtains over the one small window or the coverlet on the bed were meant to be. They had faded to a neutral hue between dull gray and beige. The narrow floorboards had no cover, the cheap pine dresser had no adornment of any
kind, and the washstand held only a cracked bowl and pitcher.

  Well, it wasn’t moving or belching smoke and soot. Laura took off her hat and set it on the dresser and contemplated her next step. Marshall couldn’t be blamed for the town’s lack of accommodations. She had only herself to blame for following him to these seedy quarters. She could have wired him from Louisville if she had known, but she had wanted to surprise him. It served her right if she surprised herself.

  Laura was so tired, all she could think of was washing and slipping into a clean nightgown and climbing between the covers, but even in her innocence she knew the enormity of climbing into a man’s bed. She didn’t know what happened there, but only fallen women and wives were allowed that privilege. That seemed an odd combination, and she wrinkled up her nose at the connotations it wrought, but she couldn’t stand around looking dismayed all night.

  She took off her dusty jacket and washed her face in the tepid water. She unpacked her toiletries, let down her hair and brushed it out and plaited it. The hour grew later and the candle burned lower. The humid air in the room didn’t diminish even when she opened the window. An army of mosquitoes persuaded her to close it a little later.

  Restless, Laura pulled out her fragile lawn nightgown. It was a child’s gown, but she didn’t know that. Her only thought was that it had only a small cap sleeve and required no corset or petticoat. It would feel divine just to have that one piece of lawn against her skin instead of all of these trappings she had lugged around for days. Perhaps Marshall wasn’t coming back tonight. Presumably the army had a camp nearby. He must have had to stay in it this night. Surely it would be all right to go ahead and wash and go to bed.

  It was only a matter of minutes to put thought into action. The heavy traveling gown came off with only a little persuasion. Laura untied her petticoats and neatly folded them beneath her gown. There was no room in her carpetbag for them and she didn’t have the nerve to open the dresser where Marshall kept his clothes. She was growing increasingly nervous by the minute, but she had thrown caution to the winds and had to abide by her choice.