Between a Book and a Hard Place

by Denise Swanson

  Miss Ophelia answered the doorbell, and after Noah explained our visit, she invited us inside. We followed the tiny old woman as she led us into the hallway and then waved us into the parlor.

  Slowly seating herself on a gorgeous Heywood-Wakefield wicker chair, she gestured to the carved mahogany rope-twist settee across from her and said, “Please make yourselves comfortable.”

  “You have a lovely home.” Although I had attended etiquette classes here, the students always entered through the back door. We then used the rear staircase to access the second-story classroom and dance studio. We were never allowed anywhere on the main floor. Miss Ophelia’s personal living space was strictly off-limits, and we’d all been too terrified of her to test that rule.

  “Thank you. It’s all original to the house.” Miss Ophelia’s straight spine never touched the back of her chair. “It’s exactly as my great-great-great-grandmother decorated it a century and a half ago. Her husband had everything shipped from New York.”

  “Impressive.” I gazed at the Oriental carpet and the flocked wallpaper, neither of which showed any indication of wear.

  “May I get you something to drink?” Miss Ophelia asked. “I was about to put the kettle on for a pot of tea when you arrived.”

  Noah glanced at me, then answered for us both. “No, thank you. We just had a wonderful lunch at Webster House in Kansas City.”

  “An extremely fine establishment.” Miss Ophelia smiled. “Or so I’ve been told. I no longer travel into the city.” She inclined her head. “Now, you indicated an interest in Shadow Bend’s part in the Civil War. Is there any specific event you’d like to discuss?”

  “Yes.” Noah’s leg nudged mine as he said, “The information we’re most concerned with would involve the ancestors of local families.”

  “Ah.” Miss Ophelia folded her hands. “Anyone in particular?”

  “Folks who are still living in the area,” I said. “Especially current members of the Confederate Daughters of Missouri.”

  “I see.” Miss Ophelia shot me a sharp glance, then asked Noah, “What has your mother gotten herself involved with this time?”

  “I hope nothing.” Noah sighed. “Although if you know why she’s suddenly fascinated with aliens, I’d love to hear about it.”

  “Nadine rarely speaks to me.” Miss Ophelia’s thin lips curled slightly. “She finds my insistence on facts rather than gossip boring. And she has yet to realize that to acquire knowledge, one must first admit one doesn’t already know everything.”

  Although I agreed with Miss Ophelia’s assessment of Nadine’s character, I was anxious to get down to business and asked, “Are you aware of any controversy regarding any of Shadow Bend’s Civil War heroes?”

  “As you are undoubtedly aware from your high school state history class, Missouri sent men and supplies to both sides of the conflict.” Miss Ophelia crossed her ankles, evidently settling in for a long story. “We had separate governments that represented each side. And Missourians fought over it, neighbors against neighbors and brothers against brothers.”

  “Was that the case in Shadow Bend?” Noah asked. “Were we a community divided, or were most of the townsfolks firmly Confederate?”

  Miss Ophelia ignored his question and continued her lesson. “Missouri supplied more than thirty thousand troops to the Confederate army and approximately a hundred and ten thousand to the Union.”

  “Did Shadow Bend families send many of our men to the Union side?” I asked.

  My question didn’t fare any better than Noah’s had, and the elderly woman continued her lecture without deigning to acknowledge it.

  “There was fighting all over our state.”

  When she paused, Noah opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she said, “The best estimates that I’ve read indicate that twelve hundred separate battles and skirmishes were fought in Missouri.” As Miss Ophelia shook her head, her snow-white chignon gleamed in the sunlight coming through the front window. “Only two other states saw more fighting than Missouri—Virginia and Tennessee.”

  “Wow.” I vaguely recalled learning those details in school, but at that time, they hadn’t made much of an impression.

  Miss Ophelia seemed almost to be talking to herself as she continued. “The first major battle west of the Mississippi River took place at Wilson’s Creek, Missouri, and the largest conflict west of the Mississippi River was the Battle of Westport at Kansas City.”

  “Very interesting, Miss Ophelia.” Noah leaned forward and touched her hand. “But is there anything more specific to Shadow Bend?”

  “There were two skirmishes in this area,” Miss Ophelia answered, appearing to refocus. “In the first, the Union troops outnumbered our local regiment by about three to one and easily routed them. Casualties were extremely heavy, and there were many fatalities. The deaths and loss of limbs of so many of our young men stirred up a lot of strong feelings among the townspeople who, up until then, had been less than passionate about the war.”

  “And the second battle?” I asked, gathering that that encounter was the more complicated and thus more relevant to our situation.

  “The second was later in the war.” Miss Ophelia took a lace-edged handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and cleaned her glasses. “Our boys were terribly dispirited by their early defeat.”

  “How much later?” I asked, squirming a little on the uncomfortable sofa.

  “Near the end.” Miss Ophelia settled her spectacles back on her face. “It took place in early September of 1864, a week before General Sterling Price, our former governor, led his ill-fated raid. He believed his attack could stir a general uprising for the Confederacy.”

  “But it didn’t.” I remembered that much from our Missouri state history class.

  “Shadow Bend’s regiment, along with many others in Missouri, had been ordered to create a diversion for General Price’s troops.” Miss Ophelia neatly folded her hanky and returned it to her pocket. “This time, before the big battle, our men used guerrilla maneuvers to weaken the enemy.”

  “Like what?” Noah asked.

  “Ambushes, sabotage, and hit-and-run tactics,” Miss Ophelia explained. “They used their familiarity with the area and their ability to move quickly against the Union’s larger and less mobile troops.”

  “Which means”—I paused as I thought about the ramifications of that type of fighting—“during the period before the actual battle, the Shadow Bend guys were mostly on their own. Little or no accountability.”

  “Correct.” Miss Ophelia raised a feathery white brow. “Which is perhaps how tales became exaggerated and later questioned.”

  “Any of our local families’ heroes have disputed claims?” I asked. This had to be what Jett was researching. But why would he care about a tiny regiment that had made little impact in the war?

  “There were stories about collaboration with the Union and another about an act of cowardice,” Miss Ophelia answered. “But nothing was ever proven, and with the passing of years, the rumors died out.”

  “Do you know which soldiers were accused of what?” Noah asked.

  “Thirty-nine years ago, Mindy Hargrove found a box of letters written by her great-great-great-grandfather. In them, several new facts came to light, one of which was a complaint that the only time Major Boone fought alongside his men in the front lines was during that last fatal battle.” Miss Ophelia tented her fingers. “But that wasn’t unusual for officers.”

  Could that have been the issue that nearly kept Mrs. St. Onge out of the CDM? It hardly seemed like enough, but I had no idea the stringency of the membership requirements.

  “Who else was mentioned in the Hargrove letters?” I asked.

  “Hargrove wrote that Captain Sinclair reported that the Union train his unit was sent to raid never showed up.” Miss Ophelia gazed at me. “He speculated that
the Sinclairs were Union sympathizers.”

  “Interesting,” I murmured. That was what Nadine had alluded to at the city council meeting. Since my family wasn’t too rah-rah about their ancestors’ past glories during the war and my initiation into the CDM had been halted due to my father’s imprisonment, I’d never heard about the issue until Noah’s mother had thrown the accusation at me. “And ironic considering that my great-great-great-great-grandfather was killed in that final battle, along with Major Boone and Colonel Underwood.”

  “What about Colonel Underwood?” Noah broke in. “Any dirt on him?”

  “Our ancestor’s name has never been besmirched.” Miss Ophelia straightened her already rigid spine, then winked. “But Nadine has never allowed me to examine the papers pertaining to his service.”

  “So we have a possible coward, an accused Union sympathizer, and an unknown,” I summarized, wanting to make sure I had everything straight. “And three of the founding families are represented.”

  “That is precisely why the allegations were never examined.” Miss Ophelia scowled. “No one was interested in stirring up that kettle of fish.” She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Outside of the members of the CDM, who only want to flaunt their status, few people care about the past anymore. Which is why I was surprised when Mr. Benedict requested a meeting.”

  “Did you agree to see him?” Noah asked, his shoulders stiffening.

  “I did.” Miss Ophelia tilted her head toward me and said, “You have my deepest sympathy on the loss of your stepfather. He was a charming man and extremely well versed in Civil War history. It was a shame that we’d barely begun chatting when we were interrupted by a call from his lawyer. He excused himself and immediately left. He and I were supposed to meet again the next afternoon. Unfortunately, he was killed before that happened.”

  Noah and I glanced at each other, and then I asked, “Was there anything in particular Jett asked you? Anything that stood out as unusual?”

  “His interests were similar to the ones you and Noah have expressed.”

  “Did you tell him what you told us?” I asked. I held my breath. Were we on the same track? “Or was he called away too soon?”

  “Mr. Benedict already knew what I’ve relayed to you.” Miss Ophelia smoothed her skirt over her knees. “What he wanted from me was an opinion on a set of documents he’d recently run across.”

  “At the library?” I asked.

  “He didn’t say where he’d located the documents.”

  “What was in those papers?” Noah asked.

  “I never got to examine them.” Miss Ophelia frowned. “He was called away before he produced them and declined to leave them with me.”

  Something about Miss Ophelia’s answer rang a bell in my head, but before I could figure out why, Noah said, “Thank you so much for seeing us.” Noah got up and hugged his cousin. “If you think of anything else about issues regarding the local families and the Civil War, please give me a call.”

  “I will.” Miss Ophelia stood and showed us to the door. “But I suspect the documents your mother won’t allow me to study might be what you really need to see.”

  CHAPTER 19

  As Noah opened the Jaguar’s door for Dev, he glanced at his watch. It was almost five. “I need to stop back home to walk Lucky. Why don’t you come with me, and afterward we can take a dip in the pool?”

  “First, I don’t have a swimsuit.” Dev slid into the passenger seat. “Although that wouldn’t be a deal breaker.” She smiled naughtily, and Noah felt himself harden. “Second, I need to talk to Dad and Gran about our ancestor’s possible Union leanings.” She put her purse on the floor and buckled her safety belt. “Third, I’m meeting Poppy at Boone’s for pizza at six.” She gazed at Noah through her lashes as he climbed behind the wheel. “And I have a hunch that if I went to your house, I’d be late.” She paused, then added softly, “Or I wouldn’t make it there at all.”

  The suggestive note in her voice and the gleam in her eyes sent a lightning bolt to his crotch. He wanted to ignore her arguments and drive them to his place just as fast as the Jag would take them. Unfortunately, she had a determined expression on her face that said no amount of coaxing would change her mind.

  He put the car in gear and pulled into the street. It took all his self-control to maintain a pleasant expression as he said, “Are you free Sunday afternoon? It’s supposed to be clear and in the eighties. We can laze in the water and have a picnic.”

  “Sounds fun.” Dev put a hand on his leg. “I’ll bring the food.”

  “Great.” He struggled to keep his tone even. Her fingers on his thigh were not helping calm his arousal. “Does two o’clock work for you?”

  Dev fished her phone from her purse and checked her calendar. “That would be perfect.”

  They were both silent for the few minutes it took Noah to drive from Miss Ophelia’s to the parking lot behind the dime store. As soon as he stopped the Jag, Dev leaped out. Shouting that she’d see him later, she waved, hurried over to her own car, and hopped inside.

  As he watched Dev reverse the BMW, he accepted defeat. Hell! Forget about an evening of fooling around; he hadn’t even gotten a good-bye kiss. Driving away, he snarled. Why was it that whenever he was around Dev, he lost every damn bit of his famous willpower?

  Noah groaned. It was probably a good thing Dev had jumped out of the car so fast, because a single touch of her lips would not be enough. He wasn’t certain anything short of forever would be enough to stop the ache inside of him.

  Taking things slow and trying to prove that he was the sure and steady guy for her wouldn’t work. Not when every time he and Dev finally had a chance to be together some crisis got in their way.

  If he’d been smart, instead of the lame excuse of needing to walk his dog, he should have kept his mouth shut, driven her to his place, swept her into his arms, and carried her to his bedroom. Noah chuckled. Too bad Dev would have probably kneed him in the balls if he tried that kind of caveman stunt.

  Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to put his desire for Dev aside and concentrate on the matter at hand. Once he had walked Lucky, he’d drop by his mom’s. Nadine was acting crazier than usual, which meant she might be heading for some real trouble.

  As much as he’d like to wash his hands of his meddling mother, Noah was honor bound to take care of her. He’d promised his father, and he considered himself a man of his word.

  Still, as he pulled the Jaguar into his garage, the memory of Dev’s sea green eyes, velvety skin, and lush red lips interfered with his breathing. Emotionally, she consumed him, and for one irrational moment he wanted to turn his car around, drive to Dev’s place, and kidnap her for a night of wild sex and a morning of sweet kisses.

  Noah took another deep breath. Then, having regained his common sense, he took care of his dog and drove over to his mom’s. He parked in the driveway and got out.

  The place never changed. His mother had always insisted on keeping both the exterior and interior in museumlike condition, and it was still the cold, imposing pile of bricks it had been when he’d lived there. He’d never felt comfortable in his parents’ home, and he had escaped to college as soon as he could, vowing never to spend another night under his mother’s lavish roof.

  Now that he’d finally found a reliable health aide, Noah limited his visits to a once-a-week wellness check. Every Sunday morning after church, he and Nadine suffered through an uncomfortable, often silent, brunch, where each of them searched for a neutral topic of conversation. He was relieved when the obligatory two hours were up and he could say good-bye. And Noah suspected his mother was, too.

  Nadine’s aide, Beckham Janson, answered the doorbell and said, “Mrs. Underwood is on the patio.”

  The handsome young man had become more of a majordomo to Nadine than health care worker. At first Noah had been alarmed
at the guy’s growing influence on Nadine. Noah had been concerned that Janson would take advantage of his position and try to bilk her out of her fortune, but there had been no sign of duplicity.

  The aide seemed perfectly happy to live rent-free in a beautiful house with comparatively light duties. For the most part, Janson provided more companionship than actual physical assistance. His presence was as much a safeguard as anything else.

  Because Noah handled all the financial aspects of his mother’s life, he would know immediately if there was the slightest hint of inappropriate transactions. With that in mind, he’d resolved to count his blessings and be thankful for Janson’s help.

  Nadine’s miraculously improved physical condition, but questionable mental health, made Noah grateful that Janson kept him thoroughly informed regarding Nadine’s whereabouts and her activities. At least the ones the young man was around to observe.

  “Mrs. Underwood is having cocktails.” Beckham stepped aside. “May I bring you one?”

  “No, thanks.” Noah nodded to the aide. “I’ll be with my mother for the next couple of hours, so you can take a break.”

  “Cool. I’ll run to the gym and get in a workout.” He flexed his arms. “You don’t get guns like these by slacking off.” He held out his hand. “By the way, thanks for picking up the membership fee. That was really awesome of you to include that perk in my contract.”

  “My pleasure.” Noah shook the man’s hand, then walked down the hall, across the kitchen, and opened the patio doors.

  Stepping outside, Noah saw that Nadine was sitting on a chaise lounge, sipping a martini and idly flipping through a fashion magazine. Her chair faced the immaculately landscaped backyard, giving him a view of her profile.

  He studied her for several minutes, watching as every once in a while she put her drink down on the nearby glass table, gazed over her kingdom, and sighed. It was rare to see his mother so pensive. Her usual expression was complacent. What was she thinking?