Beloved Enemy

by Mary Schaller

  Captain Stu Cramer folded his hand and gave Rob a commiserating look. “What did you do to attract Colonel Turner’s personal attention? You haven’t been here long enough for him to recognize you on sight.”

  The third man in their game, Lieutenant Joe Grimwold, smiled. “Maybe Rob is planning an escape, and the colonel wants to have a chat with him about it.”

  Rob returned the grin, but felt sick inside. He certainly hoped not, though there was precious little he could tell anyone at this point. Whomever was working on the breakout was keeping very closed-mouthed about it.

  “Montgomery!” the guard shouted with more impatience. “I ain’t got the time to stand here all day yelling for you!”

  Rob tossed his cards down on the blanket, then pulled himself to his feet. A brief wave of dizziness caught him. The sudden privation of decent food had weakened Rob more than he cared to admit. After steadying himself, he picked his way over and around the several hundred men who were packed in the Chickamauga Suite, the long room named for the battle where the majority of the prisoners had been captured the previous September.

  The guard pushed him down the first three steps. “I don’t cotton to you, Yankee,” he informed Rob, giving him another shove in his low back. “I especially don’t like you for seducing a fine Southern gal like the one who’s waiting for you in the guard room. Now how in the Sam Hill did you accomplish that?” He pushed Rob again, and laughed when the major stumbled down two more steps.

  “Don’t know either, private,” Rob mumbled, while his mind raced. He knew no one here in Richmond, except the name of Elizabeth Van Lew, and she was supposed to be some elderly spinster. Was this summons the Reb’s idea of a joke?

  His heart nearly stopped when he turned the corner at the bottom of the staircase and saw Julia sitting on a bench. The smile she gave him warmed him more than a bonfire.

  “Oh, Rob!” she mouthed, as she rose to meet him.

  His brain spun in a kaleidoscope of emotions and desires. He wanted to clutch her so tightly against him that nothing would ever part them again. Standing in the middle of the stark room in her travel-stained cloak, she radiated beauty, like an angel stepped down from a church window. Rebellious tendrils of her cinnamon-flame hair framed her pale face in such an enticing way that he longed to reach out and twine them around his fingers—if only to confirm the reality of this heavenly vision.

  Yet Rob held himself in check. His unwashed stench and the itch of a hundred lice bites made him acutely aware of his present condition. How could he possibly touch Julia now? Moreover, his ingrained sense of self-preservation gave him pause. What was Julia doing here in this hellhole? Wasn’t she supposed to be married by now? Where was her husband? Or were the Confederates using her to ferret out the truth of Rob’s mission? Had she really betrayed him in her garden and inadvertently played into Lawrence’s plan?

  To display his true feelings now would be folly, especially when the prison clerk and four of the guards watched him like cats around a wounded mouse. Rob stiffened his features into a mask.

  “Good morning, Miss Chandler,” he greeted her formally, though his heart hammered in his chest. “I confess, it is a surprise to see you here.”

  A dart of pain shadowed those luminous green eyes of hers. “Oh, cousin Rob! It has been far, far too long since we last met. Has the army made you grow so cold?” She smiled again, though her lush lips trembled.

  “Five minutes, miss,” Ross barked from his desk. He glared at Montgomery as if daring him to object.

  Rob blinked, trying to focus on Julia’s words. Now they were cousins? She stepped toward him. He held up his hand to stop her before a battalion of his vermin could leap on her.

  “Don’t come any closer, Julia,” he cautioned, though his tone was more harsh than he had intended. “I’m not fit for civilized company.”

  Despite his warning, she drew nearer to him. Her eyes widened when she looked up at him. “You…” she faltered, then began again. “You are much thinner than when I last saw you.” She bit her lower lip.

  Rob glanced at the nearest guard before he answered. The Reb was close enough to overhear every word, and he made no attempt to hide the fact that he was listening. Across the room, the civilian clerk, Erasmus Ross, observed them intently with a pocket watch in his hand. Returning to Julia, Rob saw that she fought back tears.

  He cleared his throat. “I am afraid, at that time, I was like the biblical fatted calf,” he said with more truth than he had intended.

  He really wanted to tell her how glad he was to see her. How much he had missed her and how beautiful she looked! He realized, with a start, that this was the first time that they had ever met in daylight.

  Julia lowered her voice. “Please believe me, Rob. I had no idea there were any soldiers in our garden that night.”

  Rob wanted to trust her. He wanted to embrace her, put her head against his chest as he had done in the cold moonlight, and tell her the thousand things that filled his heart. He lifted his good hand to stroke her cheek, saw the grime under his nails and shook his head. He dropped his arm to his side again. The visit was the worst torture the Rebs could have devised—and he doubted they even realized it.

  Julia thought she would break in two. How poorly Rob looked and how cold he was to her, as if he blamed her for every minute he had languished inside these filthy, horrid walls! Libby Prison was much worse than she had expected. Rob’s coat, with a tear along the shoulder seam, hung loosely from his tall frame. His cheekbones stood out, making his face look like a statue of cold bronze. His dark hair was uncombed and a short, ragged beard covered his once-smooth cheeks. The haunted darkness in his eyes frightened Julia the most. He looked like a dangerous animal that had been kept for too long on a short leash and short rations. He looked as if he could kill with his bare hand.

  “Four minutes,” snapped the clerk.

  Julia jumped at the sound of his grating voice. What could she say in four minutes? She needed hours, days to express all that she wanted to tell Rob, if only he would listen to her. She put her hand on his coat sleeve. He flinched and shook it off.

  She moistened her lips. “You once told me that you studied law at Yale. As a lawyer, would you deny a fair hearing to a common criminal? If not, then why do you deny me?” She stepped as close as she dared to him. Her words were only for his ears. “Do you need proof of my fidelity to you? Very well, listen. I have run away from the only home I have ever had. I have left behind me everything that I love—except you.”

  Rob blinked at her, though he said nothing.

  Please, please let him believe her. Julia didn’t want to beg him in front of all these strangers, but she would go down on her knees, if that would make him trust her.

  “Three minutes.” The clerk looked almost gleeful.

  Just then, the little woman in black who had helped Julia earlier again rose from the bench. “Mr. Ross!” she snapped. “I do believe that we have heard enough out of your mouth for this day.”

  “Now, Miss Van Lew, you know I have to keep order here,” he shot back, though his tone softened a fraction.

  Lizzie Van Lew advanced upon him like a small terrier stalking a large rat. “Exactly so, Mr. Ross, and you do that most admirably. But keeping order does not mean keeping time. We can do that for ourselves.”

  He bore up under her assault, but looked less forbidding. The four guards backed away. None of them dared to laugh at her. Buoyed by this unexpected intervention, Julia hurried on with her little speech.

  “I have brought a few things for you,” she whispered, “though I can see that it isn’t half as much as you need. Some apples, sardines, socks—” She babbled on, afraid if she stopped to take a breath, she would cry on the spot. She held up her little basket to him.

  Did Julia just say she loved him?

  Words refused to roll off Rob’s tongue. She had run away—for him? “Then you are not married?” he whispered.

  Green fire burned in t
he depths of her eyes. “No! I hope I never see Payton again.”

  “And you have thrown away your reputation to come here—for me?”

  Pink patches stained her white cheeks. “Yes, and I feel much better for it. Now, please, Rob, take my basket. I’ll bring you more next time.”

  He placed his hand over hers. “Thank you, Julia, but I beg you, don’t come back. Libby is no place for a lady.”

  She gave him a pert smile, one he remembered from the Winsteads’ ball. “I gave up being a lady as my New Year’s resolution—”

  “Hush!” Rob interrupted her. He wanted to kiss that smile so badly. “Don’t even tease like that—not here. You may be surrounded by your fellow Confederates, but underneath those gray uniforms, some of these men are the scum of the earth. They would gladly take you at your word.”

  “Time’s up, Montgomery!” called Ross.

  “No, it isn’t,” countered the remarkable Miss Lizzie. “Not until I say it’s up—unless you want to pay for your own cigars from now on.”

  Rob nodded his thanks to her. Then he returned to Julia. She looked as if she had walked every mile to Richmond—for him.

  “You have no idea what your visit means to me,” he began. He had never before felt so helpless in the presence of a female. Some day, he would be able to show Julia how much he appreciated her sacrifice, but not now under the rude gaze of the loutish guards. Not when he was crawling with vermin and dirt. Not when he had nothing to give to her—not even a kiss, though he longed for one of hers. He squeezed her hand.

  Julia looked over her shoulder at their audience. She blushed when she returned to him. “Then you do believe me, Rob? Every word?”

  “Yes,” he murmured. Then lowering his head, he kissed her soft hand. It trembled under his lips. He stared with the longing of a thirsty man into the deep green pools of her eyes. “This kiss, if it dared speak, would stretch thy spirits up into the air,” he whispered.

  “Sweet Shakespeare!” Lowering her lashes, Julia rose up on tiptoe.

  Rob shivered. He had to leave her now, before she tried to kiss him. Before he made a fool of himself and cried in front of his enemies. He lifted the basket out of her grasp. “I once told you that ‘parting is such sweet sorrow.’ That was small talk then. I mean every word of it now.”

  He turned abruptly and left her. Once back upstairs on his blanket, he closed his eyes, hugged the basket and wept silently.

  Lizzie Van Lew waited until Rob’s footfalls died away on the stairs before she took command of the guard room once again. Turning to Ross, she said, “There now! Your prisoner is safely back in his den and only six minutes have passed. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  Ross replaced his watch in his waistcoat pocket before he replied in an undertone. “No, Miss Lizzie, but one day you will go too far, and then not even the protection of General Winder will keep you out of trouble.”

  Lizzie smiled sweetly at him. “I shall see you next week, Mr. Ross, and I won’t forget those cigars—or some custard. Is that going too far?”

  Ross grinned like a schoolboy. “Miss Lizzie, you are a caution.”

  She regarded the pretty young girl who still stood rooted in the same spot—staring after the departed man. The more Lizzie studied the girl, the more she concluded that Miss Chandler was straight out of some secluded home deep in the countryside. It was written plain on her face that the child didn’t know the first thing about Richmond, and wouldn’t last a day without some sort of protection and guidance.

  Lizzie picked up her large, now-empty basket, then turned toward Miss Chandler. “Well, young lady, don’t dawdle. I have a lot to do today, and I can’t waste my time waiting for you to quit your gawking.”

  The girl snapped back into the present, then looked around to see if Lizzie had spoken to someone else. She blushed in a very becoming way that was not lost on the lusty youngsters who served as prison guards.

  “You were addressing me, ma’am?” she asked with the widest green eyes Lizzie had ever seen.

  This child was bound for a world of trouble if Lizzie didn’t take charge of her immediately. “I did indeed, Miss Chandler. Now come with me. As Mr. Ross so gallantly pointed out earlier, time flies. It’s nearly noon and my dinnertime. I detest missing my dinner, and I am sure you do, too. You may carry my basket. Lord knows, this cold wet winter will be the undoing of every bone in my body. Well?”

  Julia had no idea why this little birdlike woman had decided to adopt her, but she was very glad that Miss Van Lew did. Julia had not looked forward to returning to her hotel after such an unnerving visit with Rob. Miss Lizzie spoke of eating dinner as if Julia were invited to share that meal. Blessing her good luck, she smiled and took the basket.

  “Much obliged, I am sure,” she murmured. “I shall be very glad to accompany you.”

  The little woman sniffed, then turned on her heel. “Of course you are! Say goodbye to our nice Mr. Ross, and let us be on our way.” To the guards, who looked as thunderstruck as Julia felt, she added, “I’ll be back in a week or so, boys. I expect you’ll be wanting your usual buttermilk and ginger cakes, as well?”

  They grinned like four puppies around a puddle of cream. The nearest soldier held the door open for the women. “You be sure to bring Miss Chandler back with you, too.”

  Julia gulped. It had never occurred to her that she might be in harm’s way among Confederate soldiers. It was always the Yankees she had worried about in the past…long ago, in Alexandria.

  Miss Lizzie gave the boy a narrow-eyed look of disapproval. “And you mind your manners, Charlie Garland, or I’ll be writing a letter to your mother. See if I don’t.”

  He lowered his gaze from Julia, and his neck turned a little red under his collar. “You know I’m just funning, Miss Lizzie.”

  “Humph!” she replied, as she stomped down the outside steps. “Come along, Miss Chandler. Mind the gutter. And don’t you pay any attention to those harlots yonder. What would your mother say if she saw you now? I can’t imagine!” She snapped open her green umbrella.

  Julia was sure her mother would have fainted quite some time ago.

  Chapter Twenty

  Clara Chandler took to her bed on the day that Julia ran away. Besides her husband, she allowed only Payton to visit her. He brought a small nosegay of hothouse violets that cost him a fortune in the dead of winter. He considered the price a small one if he could salvage his bleak financial prospects following Julia’s rejection of him.

  “Oh, my dear, dear boy!” Clara wailed into her handkerchief. “How sweet you are! Violets! I do declare, you are far too good for that ungrateful girl!” Clara had sworn never to mention Julia’s name again and, so far, she stuck to her vow.

  Payton assumed an expression of noble suffering, though his vanity seethed at Julia’s open repudiation of him. “I am so very sorry that you are still unwell, Auntie.” He glanced at the bottle of opium drops on the bureau. The level was low, a promising sign that his aunt’s mind was befuddled by laudanum fumes.

  “I fear that I must return to Belmont,” he continued, “but before I go, I wonder if I may have your permission to pay court to your younger daughter, Carolyn?” Carolyn was a hellion, pure and simple, but in five short years, she, too, would inherit a sizable legacy from Grandmother Lightfoot’s estate. By that time, Payton would have molded the chit into a proper lady.

  Clara stopped snuffling into her hankie. Sitting up straighter in bed, she gave him a calculating look. “Carolyn?” she mused.

  Payton pressed his advantage. “I realize that she is young, Auntie, but she’ll be ripe for marriage in another year or so. She’s a spirited girl, and I know that she has been difficult for you to manage. As her fiancé, I would be glad to help her learn the etiquette befitting a lady of our social class in Richmond.” He shamelessly played upon the two primary concerns of Clara Chandler: Carolyn’s outrageous independence and Clara’s goal to be aligned with Virginia’s first families.

 
; A spark of interest, or cunning, flashed into his aunt’s eye. “How kind you are, Payton! So very gracious to even consider engaging yourself to Carolyn after what her wicked sister did to you. Your offer is indeed intriguing, but I must speak to Dr. Chandler about—”

  “Clara! We will do no such thing!” Her husband swept into the bedroom. From the stern expression on his uncle’s face, Payton suspected that he had heard their whole conversation.

  Payton scrambled to save his financial future. “Sir, I had intended to come to you directly to ask for Miss Carolyn’s hand. I only wished to see if her mother thought it a worthwhile idea.”

  The doctor frowned. “Save yourself the trouble, Payton. Carolyn is not yours for the plucking, nor will she be any time in the future.” His expression softened a bit when he turned toward his wife, although the resolve in his jawline did not waver. “We have lost one daughter already through this hasty misalliance with Payton, my dear. We shall not make the same mistake a second time.”

  Clara’s face screwed up into immediate tears. Payton had always admired her ability to command her hysterics at will. “Jonah! Whatever will we do about Carolyn? No one will want to marry her after the shameful conduct of…of—”

  “Julia?” her husband asked in a sad tone. “I would not worry about that quite yet, Clara. The war will end long before Carolyn is ready to settle down, and I suspect our lives will have a great many changes in the aftermath. We can only hope that Julia will return soon from Richmond, and our family will be reconciled.”

  Payton quivered like a foxhound on a scent. “You have heard from Julia, sir? She is indeed in Richmond?”

  Dr. Chandler sighed. “No letter, if that is what you mean, but I have it on good authority that she followed that Federal officer who is now incarcerated in Libby. I am not surprised. She seemed very much in love with the young man.”

  “In love with a Yankee?” Clara bleated from the depths of her pillows. “Oh, I could just die!”