At one point she opened her eyes.
“Maria,” Max said, leaning closer to her because he thought she wanted to speak. She seemed to try hard to say something to him, then closed her eyes again.
Max slept fitfully—at the bedside and for short intervals across the hall. From time to time he went to see Mr. Markham, not to offer the old man comfort so much as to seek it for himself. The boys and Mrs. Hansen had been sent away to Mrs. Kinnard’s house—an indicator of the high regard even the Kinnard woman had for Maria, he supposed, if she would try to help by taking in the boys he thought of now as his own.
They were his. In his heart. In his soul. Just as Maria was.
On the eighth day of the illness Maria lost the baby. It made no improvement in her condition as Strauss hoped. She was so agitated that he increased the laudanum, after all, and he offered no encouragement. Even if he had, Max would not have believed him. There was nothing to do but wait.
Max sat dozing in a chair by the bed when he heard a commotion at the front door. He left Maria and went halfway down the main stairs to find Nell Hansen going head-to-head with the church women who refused to let her into the house.
“They won’t let me see her, Woodard!” Nell called when she saw him. “Please! I want to see her!”
“Let her pass,” Max said, ignoring an array of incredulous and affronted looks inspired only partly because he was allowing a woman of ill repute to enter by the front door. The primary reason was his having signed Jimmy Julian’s release. He’d had no choice. None of these women knew that, and he absolutely refused to be put into the position of justifying his actions to them.
Nell followed him as far as the room then slipped past him to go in first. She sat on the side of the bed and held Maria’s hand, weeping openly. The scene suddenly became too painful for him to watch. He knew too much about “The Three Musketeers” now and the longstanding regard they had for each other. He went down the back stairs into the kitchen. Perkins was there, and he immediately brought a cup of coffee and put it into Max’s hand.
“Anything you want done, Sir?” Perkins asked.
“No. Yes. I want you to bring the boys by.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Max realized that Nell was standing at the bottom of the back stairs. She kept wiping at her eyes with her fingers.
“Thank you,” she said. “Don’t give up, Woodard. She’ll stay if she can. Honest to God, she will.”
He nodded and looked away.
“How much trouble are you in?” she asked
“Trouble?”
“You kept Jimmy Julian locked up when you weren’t supposed to. Are they going to do anything to you for it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, people here will know you tried,” she said, and he gave a short, humorless laugh.
“Maria will know you tried,” she said pointedly.
Maria.
He left Nell Hansen standing and went back upstairs. As he sat down in the chair by Maria’s bed, he realized that she was awake and trying to say something.
“Maria, what is it?” he said, leaning forward and taking her hand. Her voice was weak, but he understood her perfectly.
“I should…never have…married you.”
Chapter Nineteen
“She has lost her child. She needs time to grieve.”
Max heard Strauss, but he gave no indication that he did. The remark was neither welcome nor accurate. It wasn’t only grief that Maria suffered. It was also regret. For her, the only reason for their marriage no longer existed.
“She’s growing stronger every day,” Strauss said.
Max still made no comment.
“Colonel, about the pregnancy—”
“I don’t want to discuss that.”
“There can be other children,” the major said anyway. “And you needn’t be concerned that the women who were in the room at the time of the miscarriage are privy to the details of…a private matter.”
“Is there anything else?” Max said.
“No…except—”
“If there is nothing else, you are dismissed, Major.”
Max waited until the man had gone, then got up wearily from his desk and walked to the window. The evening was hot and muggy, but he could hear the rumble of thunder in the distance. The streets were deserted. And there were no pressing military duties to keep him from going home.
Home.
His home was where she was, and he couldn’t tell her so. Such an admission was the last thing she would want to hear from him.
The house was dark when Max got there but for the lamps kept lighted in the foyer and in Mr. Markham’s room. Still, he didn’t expect to find the old man awake. Mr. Markham’s illness had left him afraid of the dark. And Maria’s had made her retreat into it.
He saw to his mount, and then smoked a cigar before he went inside, looking up at Maria’s window from time to time. It was dark. It was always dark.
He thought he heard someone in the front yard, and he walked in that direction, expecting a messenger with yet another aggravation concerning the occupation of the conquered South. But he didn’t see anyone or hear anything else, so he went in by the front door, walking along the hallway toward the parlor. He had gone halfway down the hall when he heard the rasping click of metal behind him. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. He stopped dead, instinctively reaching for the cavalry side arm he no longer wore.
“Old habits die hard, don’t they?” someone said behind him. “Don’t turn around.”
“What do you want?” Max asked.
“Where is Maria?” the man said.
Max turned his head slightly, trying to see him. “My wife is not here.”
“I don’t have time to play games with you, Yankee! Where is she!”
“The war is over. Whatever grudge you still harbor, it is against me. She has no part in it.”
“I will ask you one more time. Where is she!” There was a slight creak on the stairs, and Max turned to see Maria on the landing.
“Maria! Stay there!” he said, taking a step forward.
“Don’t!” the man said, leveling his revolver at Max’s chest.
“Maria,” Max said in warning. She had said she wouldn’t mean the “obey” part of her marriage vows, and clearly she meant it.
“Why are you here?” she said to the man, and Max realized suddenly that she knew him. She came slowly down the steps, one by one, holding on to the banister with both hands until she reached the bottom.
“I came for you,” he said, his eyes on Max. “Whatever hold he has over you, I can put an end to it right now—”
“No!” she cried as he took careful aim, and she stepped forward and put herself between Max and the gunman.
“Maria, get out of the way!” Max said, intending to move her bodily, if he could get to her.
“Stand still, Yankee!” the man cried, and Max stopped. “Maria, move aside—what are you doing?”
“I don’t want you to hurt him. I’ll do whatever you want, but don’t hurt him.”
“Whatever I want? Maria, what’s wrong with you! I’m here now—”
“He is my husband,” she said, swaying slightly from the physical effort it had taken her to get this far. “I gave him my word.”
“Not willingly,” the man said, taking a step to the side. Maria moved with him.
“Yes. Willingly. What terrible thing do you think he could do to me to make me marry him if I didn’t want to?”
“There had to be something. I know you, Maria. Rob and Samuel would—”
“Rob and Samuel are dead! And I’m going on with my life—if you’ll let me. I’m taking care of Phelan’s children so he can follow you. The three of us are fine here.”
“What about your word to me?”
“You broke the bond between us, not I.”
“You love me, Maria!”
“Yes, and what did that ever mean to you?”
“I’m here! I have come back for you!”
“You have come back too late.”
There was another creak on the stairs—oblivious, happy-go-lucky Bruno, on some errand for Mr. Markham.
At the sound, the man swung the revolver in the orderly’s direction, and Max lunged forward to get Maria behind him. The sudden movement caused the man to fire blindly at Max instead. The bullet struck him in the side, knocking him off his feet. Maria screamed, and he tried to get up, making it to one knee before he fell over onto his back. The pain was excruciating. He could feel a hot warmth spreading under his shirt.
All that time, he thought incredulously. All those battles—and I’m shot in a damned downstairs hallway. Maria—
He tried to say her name out loud and couldn’t. She had her arms around him, trying to lift him up. He could feel her hands searching for the wound.
“Maria! Come on!” the man said.
“Get out of here!” she cried. “Someone will have heard the shot—”
“Leave him, damn it! You’re coming with me!”
“Don’t you understand, Billy!” Maria cried. “He’s a good man! He is my husband! I love him! How much more will you take from me before you’re satisfied! Max,” she whispered against his ear. “I’m so sorry—”
Max heard her, and he tried to ask the question.
Billy—how can that be Billy?
There was a great roaring in his ears. He could only let the blackness pull him down.
When the roaring stopped, voices began to swirl around him.
“Move aside, ma’am. Turn him loose, so I can see how bad it is.”
“Don’t let him die, Bruno! Please!”
“Here comes Major Strauss. He’s bleeding bad, Sir—”
“Goddamn it, just look at this—is this some of Julian’s doings?”
“Don’ think so, Sir. It was a different son of a bitch altogether.”
“Hand me a probe—not that one! Damn—it’s still in there. Get him on the dining-room table—and find me some more lamps and some mirrors so I can see. Are you hurt, Mrs. Woodard?”
“No.”
“Then stay out of the way. If I need you, I’ll call you.”
“Damn your sorry hide, Maxwell, I can’t begin to tell you what horizontal bliss you interrupted—”
“Bullet’s out, Sir. Can you hear me, Sir? Major Strauss has got the hole plugged. It didn’t hit nothing you need. You’re going to be all right.”
“Will…you look at…this—Bruno? My whole house—has become…an—infirmary.”
“Maria!”
“Maria—”
“She’s not here, Sir. Major Strauss made her go lay down for a while.”
Max opened his eyes, not realizing he’d spoken aloud.
“Today—”
His mouth was so dry. He had to swallow and lick his lips. The orderly was there immediately with water. “Today is Sunday. Again,” he said as soon as he’d had a few swallows.
“Yes, Sir. Sunday again. You’re absolutely right, Sir.”
Max looked around the room. He knew where he was every time he woke up now—the Markham-Woodard infirmary. He was definitely improving. He’d been out of bed and sitting in a chair several times. And he was making short walks to the chamber pot.
But he hadn’t talked to Maria. She came in to see him often, visits that were too brief and too strained to get anything settled between them. But today was the day. He couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Is my wife all right?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir. Major Strauss was kind of worried about her using up all her strength. The fever ain’t come back, though, and that’s good. Sir, Perkins sent word a while ago that they caught the son of a bitch who shot you.”
“Where is he?”
“They’re bringing him here, Sir. So you can identify him.”
Max closed his eyes and took a quiet breath. It hurt—but not terribly. He could hear a commotion downstairs, voices and footsteps in the outer hall.
“You ready, Sir?” the orderly asked, and Max nodded.
In a moment Perkins shoved a shackled Billy Canfield into the room ahead of him. In broad daylight, Canfield looked a great deal like his brother Phelan, in the same way Jake looked like Joe. They stared at each other, but Max made no effort to speak, giving the man time to arrange his hostility to the best advantage.
Max looked at Perkins. “I want to talk to him. Alone. Wait outside.”
“Sir, that’s not such a good idea.”
“You, too,” Max said to the orderly, ignoring the protest. “Now.”
Perkins hesitated, then complied, but he wasn’t above giving one of his eloquently disapproving looks on his way out.
“You are one more witless bastard,” Max said as soon as the door closed. Canfield flashed him a look.
“But I’m grateful for it,” Max continued, thinking Canfield’s stupidity in breaking his engagement to Maria. “So grateful, I’ve decided to let you go.”
The man laughed. “Is that a fact? What am I supposed to do? Kiss your boot?”
“You and your brother are very much cut from the same cloth,” Max said. “I seem to keep having the same conversation with both of you. In answer to what seems to be a standard Canfield inquiry—no.”
“What then? What do you want?”
“I want you to understand. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for Maria and me. She and I have too many things to get past as it is. We don’t need any more sorrows or regrets added to the pile.”
“Just like that. You’re going to let me go.”
“I am.”
“How do you know I won’t kill you next time?”
“I don’t. I’ll just have to live looking over my shoulder, won’t I? You wouldn’t mind that, I’m sure. Now let my sergeant major in.”
Canfield stood for a moment, then hobbled toward the door. “Did Maria ask you to do this?”
“No,” Max said. “She didn’t.”
Canfield stared at him; Max could feel him trying to decide if he believed him. And he realized suddenly that the man wanted Maria to have made a plea on his behalf.
“That night—I would have had to shoot you at some point. I knew you weren’t going to let me take her.”
Max didn’t say anything, because it was the truth.
“How did you manage it? How did you make her forget who she is?”
Max made no reply to that, either, and Canfield gave a short, bitter laugh and shook his head. “All right—you win—this time. Because she wants it. You be good to her,” he said before he opened the door. “Or I will come back and kill you, you Yankee son of a bitch.”
“This is not the man,” Max said as Perkins pushed his way into the room. “Let him go.”
“But, Sir—Bruno has already identified—”
“Bruno was not on the business end of the revolver. I was. It’s not him. Let him go.”
“Yes, Sir,” Perkins said, shoving Canfield back outside. “If you’re sure about this, Sir.”
Max lay back and closed his eyes. He was only sure of one thing. He wanted his wife back. After a moment he made an effort to move, to sit up on the side of the bed.
“Whoa, Sir!” the orderly said. “Where are you going—if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Across the hall—”
“Sir, you ain’t up to that.”
“Then you can carry me.”
“Well, Sir, I can do that rightly enough, but Major Strauss—”
“Major Strauss is a major,” Max said, upright now. His head was spinning, but it soon stopped.
“I see your point, Sir.”
“If I’m going to die—it’s going to be in that bed, not this one, understand?”
“Ah…yes, Sir. Let me get Bruno, Sir. He could carry both of us if he had to.”
But Max didn’t require carrying after all, only a considerable amount of propping up. Maria wasn’t lying down when he and his entour
age entered the room. She was standing by the window, staring down into the yard. And how beautiful she looked to him, in spite of her illness. And how unhappy.
Maria.
“Go on about your business,” Max said to Bruno and the orderly.
“Sir—” Bruno began.
“I assure you, Bruno, Major Strauss will know that you were only following my orders.”
“Begging your pardon, Sir, but who’s going to tell him that if you can’t?”
“Mrs. Woodard will,” Max said. “She’ll even try to do so ahead of the firing squad—won’t you?” he asked her.
“I…yes,” Maria decided.
“See? Now get out of here.”
Max sat on the side of the bed after they’d gone, head bowed, working hard not to fall on his face now that he’d made it this far.
“I saw Perkins in the yard just now,” Maria said quietly.
Max didn’t say anything.
“Have you let Billy go?”
“Yes,” he said. When he looked up, Maria was standing close to him, tears streaming down her face.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t cry.” He was so tired suddenly, and he took her hand and lay back on the bed. Incredibly, she came to him, stretching out beside him, her arms going around him cautiously at first and then clinging to him hard. He held her tightly—she felt so good!
Stay with me, Maria!
“I didn’t keep my word to you,” she said after a moment. “I didn’t do my part to make the marriage work.” She moved so that she could see his face.
“You wanted to go with him.”
“No! How could you think that?” she asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer. She pressed her face into his shoulder. He could feel her trembling. The windows were open. He could hear the boys playing on the lawn below. Trains. They were playing with the trains.
“Tell me how it is with you—and him,” he said. “Because I don’t know, Maria. I don’t know what you want.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time. He thought she wasn’t going to tell him anything, but then she wiped her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Billy…was reported dead at Gettysburg. I thought he was dead. But he was in a prison—Elmira—until the end of the war. And then, afterward, who knows where? Texas. Mexico—with men like himself who wouldn’t admit the South had been defeated. He came to see me not long before you arrived here. He was so…changed. He wasn’t the man I once knew. His mother had died. He had no family but Phelan. He intended to make his new life elsewhere—but then he decided I deserved to hear that face-to-face. Or so he said. I think it was just an…afterthought. I think he really came here to recruit Phelan to come join him and the army they were trying to raise in Mexico.
The Bride Fair Page 24